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1kook · 4 years ago

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dreamy

—pjm x (f) reader

summary; You try to not let it get to you, but Jimin is so cool and you want him to be your boyfriend so bad. warnings; ANGST lol, fwb, reader is very :(( rating; mature (18+) bc tiny smut lol misc; small smut scene, a happy ending <3 wc; 2.5k

notes; i have to post on #JIMIN’s bday or else i cannot live with myself anyway here’s me trying to fit an entire novella plot line in less than 5k words clap for me except maybe don't bc its not proofread anyway hbd jimin <3

Jimin is a nice guy, but you doubt he’d make a nice boyfriend. He fucks you hard and fast, just as you like, but hardly goes out of his way to sprinkle in any other requests. He’s got a one track mind, doesn’t dwell too long on what you say or how you’re feeling. Doesn’t matter because he’s just supposed to be a fuck buddy, the hot guy you met at a party, so you don’t let it phase you. But, well. Jimin is dreamy.

Sometimes he holds your hand while he eats you out and it sends your thoughts into a frenzy, makes your heart pound a little too fast to brush it off as just arousal. He’s got this gorgeous smile, plush lips framing pearly teeth, and when he flashes it your way, it makes your knees weak. Tells you you’re pretty when he picks you up from class, always holds your hand on the way to his place for your routine fuck. Cute and nice like an angel, but just like an angel, he hardly gives a shit about anyone’s feelings but his own.

He laughs when you ask him to hang out that weekend.

“What, like a date?” he snorts, bare chest glistening from his post-fuck exertion. You're pressed against his side now, circling his pretty brown nipple with your finger. “That’s corny.”

You try to not let it get to you, but Jimin is so cool and you want him to be your boyfriend so bad. “Yeah, silly right,” you murmur, ear pressed to his heart. It’s calming and soothing, a slow thrum that contrasts with your own racing heart.

He’s not one for dates or for romantic things like that. But neither is he some player, a cheater, a two-timer. You can count the number of times he’s slept with someone who wasn’t you in your weird fuck buddy relationship, and all four of those had been when you first started sleeping together and only when you had been out of town. You’re no saint either, so you try to understand. He was just horny, liked getting his dick wet, and sometimes he couldn’t wait for you. Understandable, you tell yourself, but your heart hurts a little bit when he begins snoring without really answering your question.

See the thing is, you really like Jimin. It’s been a little over a year now since you’ve met, so you’ve had plenty of time to learn all about him. He doesn’t like pancakes for breakfast, prefers them for lunch actually, and laughs when you tell him that’s weird. He’s got this really dorky laugh, something between a bell and a whistle— it depends on the situation. Sometimes, Jimin likes when you play with his hair, and other times he doesn’t. He’s a sweet boy, you know he is, so why won’t he settle down?

You hate to attribute it to some past trauma, some “my girlfriend broke my heart when I was seventeen” mess, but the more time that passes you begin to believe it’s true. Jimin was a tough nut to crack, and the longer this drags on, the longer he ignores your feelings, you begin to doubt you will ever see them fulfilled.

Maybe you should end this now before it’s too late.

You don’t stay for breakfast the next morning, simply kiss him goodbye at the door like always. He’s older than you, about two years, so he doesn’t go to school anymore, just chills at home all weekend. “I’ll see you soon?” he grins, low-lidded eyes tracking the movement of your mouth as you bid him adieu. You never give him a solid response, figure a guy like Jimin will forget about you soon enough.

Then, suddenly, it’s been two weeks and he doesn’t reach out. Yeah it hurts, but it’s better than having confessed to him and losing him all at once. You’d rather this ending than the one where he terribly rejects you, breaks your heart into a million pieces, and throws you away. Still, it hurts.

Jimin was so cool. He was smart and confident, had a snappy sort of attitude that he liked to use now and then. He could be mean in bed, lick your cunt until you cried and call you a stupid girl when he wanted to. But that same tongue had snapped at a guy who was trying to pressure you into bed with him at a party. That first night you met, where you had sillily followed him home after his dashing intervention, you had thought it would be nothing more. Just a fling, just a fuck.

But then he was in your bed and in your head, twinkling eyes and cocky grin trailing after you everyday. He was so pretty and so suave, made you feel good even when he was being mean. But you suppose most cocky men like Jimin are like that. They know they don’t disappoint, even when they’re not really trying.

Jimin doesn’t call or text. You don’t see his car pull up outside your campus anymore. He’s gone and that’s that. You cry a little (see: a lot) and pretend you’re over him. You definitely don’t think about his soft laughter or his hands on your chest. Nope.

So that ends.

Or so you think.

Your friends say you’re mopey and sad, too down for someone who wasn’t even your boyfriend. It’s true, which sucks, but they honor your admittance by taking you out to a bar that night. It’s supposed to be chill and relaxing, just some drinks with the girls to soothe your aching heart. But the name of the bar reminds you of something, of someone you can’t reach anymore, and you don’t even know why. You’ve never been here before, never even knew this place existed. But everything about it brings you back to Jimin, like you’re in his space now, and you’re unsure why.

It reminds you of his laugh, his smile, to the point you swear you can hear it, right beside you, down the bar, to your left—

He waves.

There’s this look he used to give you every time he picked you up from your last class, this mix between adoration and lust that made your skin tingle with excitement. It’s not there now, in fact, it’s replaced with the complete opposite. It’s, like, the meanest look he can muster, something akin to a scowl. He smiles, but it’s so plastic-y and fake, it makes your head hurt. He’s so obviously unimpressed with you, probably because you ghosted him before he could ghost you. Maybe his pride is hurt and looking at you grosses him out. Maybe he just hates you.

Either way, eleven pm rolls around and you’re crying in the bathroom. Your friends are out on the floor having fun and singing karaoke. They think you’ve gone inside because you got your period, because that’s what you’ve told them. You don’t know how to explain that your ex who isn’t really your ex is out there looking at you like you’re a piece of gum stuck under his shoe. They’ve never even met Jimin. Why? Because he wasn’t your boyfriend. Who meets their friend’s fuck buddy? No one.

You sniffle, press a balled up tissue against your eyes in a feeble attempt to save your makeup. The bar isn’t that small, but neither is it huge. There’s only a few bathrooms in the back, and you’ve been hogging one of them for some time now. Someone knocks on the door, and you don’t even get the chance to ward them off before the crappy knob jingles and the door bursts open.

“Come on,” he grumbles, “you’re not the only one who’s gotta piss—“

He pauses, meets your eye through the mirror in surprise. “I’m sorry,” you blubber, hurriedly washing your hands in an effort to avoid his gaze. Jimin lingers at the door, which has long since fallen shut, and watches you with the eyes of a hawk. Your hands tremble and shake, fumble over the towel dispenser three times before you’re hastily making your escape. “Sorry,” you mutter again, head downcast as you move around him for the door.

Just as it cracks open, the music from outside filtering in, he slams it shut with a flat palm. You flinch, close in on yourself as he steps behind you. “What’re you doing here, doll?” he murmurs, deep yet careful. Tentative. “You don’t like bars.”

You know you don’t like bars. You didn’t know he knew that. “I’m with some friends,” you explain, jump when a hand touches your shoulder. “I— I’ll leave soon.”

A second attempt for the door is thwarted by Jimin. “Don’t,” he startles, breath heavy against your ear. “Don’t leave again…” he sighs, forehead against your shoulder. And then, quietly, “why did you leave me?”

Your heart syncs up with the music outside, thunders in your ears as you purse your lips. You don’t want to talk about it now, don’t want to confess to these emotions that drown you. Especially not when he’ll never understand nor will he ever care. It’s best to leave it as is, you convince yourself, slowly shrugging him off.

“We don’t want the same things,” you reply, eyes burning with the need to cry like a baby. But it’ll weaken your argument, make you look like the sentimental girl you know he won’t like. “It wouldn’t work anyway.”

The hand on your shoulder jerks you around, makes a gasp catch in your throat when he crowds you against the door. He’s got that same glare on from before, the one he had sent you across the bar earlier, and it makes your lower lip tremble when it’s this close. “You never asked me what I wanted,” he hisses.

It is then that you realize it isn't anger or disgust, but frustration that paints his features. It’s pure, unadulterated confusion and distress on his pretty face, furrowed brows and narrowed eyes pointed your way. You don’t know what it means, don’t know what he wants. “I,” you choke, weakly covering your face with your hand before he can see you crumble. “I just wanted you.”

Jimin deflates, steps closer until his body is pressed against yours, hands on your shoulders. “And you have me, doll,” he murmurs, bumps his nose against yours. “Always have.”

You shake your head, choke on a sob that bubbles up your throat. “No, not like that,” you stress, losing yourself in the emotions you spent so much time bottling up. “I wanted more.”

Jimin shushes you, guides your head into the crook of his neck where you paint his skin in dark mascara tears. “Is this about the date?” he sighs, patting your head gently.

“It’s more than just the date,” you cry, fists curling into the material of his shirt until it rumples beyond repair. He doesn’t understand.

Jimin nods, let’s you cry and sob until you’re feeling better and someone else is pounding at the door, yelling at you two to get a proper room. You don’t want a room, you only want his heart.

He takes you home again, helps you out of your shoes at the door because you’re still sensitive and quiver like a leaf when you walk. His bedroom is familiar, smells like him and his detergent. You miss it so much, want to savor it once more. Something in your gut says this is the last time, this is just Jimin getting one last fuck out of you before he really abandons you.

So you cry when he sits down on the edge of the bed. He hasn’t even said anything, hasn’t even taken his socks off yet, but you’re already a mess.

And of course he’s there to catch you, tugs you between his legs to look up at you as if you’ve hung the stars in the sky. “Don’t cry,” he whispers, reaching up to brush away your tears. But it’s not your fault that he looks like that right before he’s going to break your heart.

He’s so cool, even when you’re falling apart in his hands. “You don’t want me,” you sniffle, let him guide you onto his lap. “You just want to fuck and that’s it.”

Jimin leans his forehead against yours, warm breath washing over your skin. “I never said that,” he murmurs. “We’ve been over this.”

You huff. “Well you never said you did either,” you snap, rubbing at your eyes.

You cry and cry some more, until your sobs subside and you’re left with the hiccups afterwards. Jimin maneuvers you beside him, lets your hair spill across the sheets as he lays you down. They smell just like him, make your head spin when he kisses your cheek softly. “I want you,” he confesses. “I want this.”

You shake your head vehemently. “No, you don’t,” you sniff, but you’re not so sure. It’s what you’ve been telling yourself for the longest. Hearing him say otherwise sounds weird, even if he’s saying what you want to hear. “You don’t.”

Jimin catches your hand in his, pins it to the mattress. “I want you to be mine,” he adds, swallows your cries of denial with his lips. He kisses softly, and for the first time, it feels like he’s paying attention to you. Not your body or your lust, but your heart. “Had me feeling like shit when you didn’t come back. Like I lost something big.”

You still cry when he kisses down your neck, over your chest. His hands pull your clothes off, carefully like you’re a present for him to unwrap. Those plush lips you love so much drown you in kisses, over your tummy and your mound, until they’re buried between your cunt. “You’re mine,” he husks out, hand entwined with yours.

His eyes are dark from down there, long lashes blinking up at you as he dips his tongue in the places you crave him most. It brings you to a shuddering end, has you whimpering his name into the empty air until your toes are curling and you’re coming against his mouth. Jimin has never shied away from you, and doesn’t know, sits up with a hazy look in his eyes as he wipes his face with the back of his hand.

Jimin wastes no time undressing, pushes off that sexy jacket until his lithe body is coming into view, thick thighs and lean abdomen. He slides right into you, holds your knees to your chest as he fucks you like never before. It’s slow and sensual, makes you shiver when he says your name in that low register of his. “Don’t leave again,” he whimpers, cock throbbing between your walls. He’s desperate today, ruts like you’ll slip right between his fingertips. It’s funny because you're the same way, clinging onto his shoulders until you’re practically glued together.

You come and so does Jimin. He pants against your ear, feels so warm and heavy on top of you. He doesn’t say much more that night, just plays with your hair. But he asks you on a date, mentions something about a carnival. “Yes,” you respond right away, because, well.

Jimin was dreamy. Maybe he’d be a good boyfriend.

#bangtanhq #networkbangtan #jimin smut #park jimin smut #pjm #park jimin #jimin x reader #jimin x reader smut #park jimin x reader #park jimin x reader smut #bts smut #bangtan smut #mine

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keanureevesisbae · 3 years ago

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sugar sugar - the planning 3.0

Summary: Someone the engaged couple both didn’t expect, is coming back into their lives

Sugar Daddy!Henry Cavill x Becky Kim (asian OFC)

Warnings: Light mentions of an argument. Mentions of hospital, cock warming (it’s becoming their thing now) and some rough sex (spanking, anal play, vibrators - the whole deal)

Wordcount: 4.9k

Masterlist // Sugar Sugar Masterlist // Sugar Sugar the wedding Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

March 1st 7 p.m.

Work has been killing Henry lately. He grows more and more tired and to my own surprise, he is even in a bad mood every now and then, a rarity when it comes to Henry. He hates talking about what is bothering him and I hate having to pry.

But it has been enough. I don’t like the fact he continues to lock himself in his office at work and I decide to surprise him. He always likes surprises, especially these ones I arranged myself.

I barge into his office and I see… He is actually taking a nap? That’s new. He only takes naps at home, with his hands slipped underneath my shirt, his head resting on my chest. His eyes flutter open, ready to scold anyone who came in, until he realizes it’s just me. ‘Thought I locked the elevator,’ he says, ‘made it unavailable.’

‘I have a surprise for you,’ I say, as I walk up to him and ignoring the fact that he might’ve made it unavailable for me as well to come up here. He probably didn’t mean it like that.

‘Okay, what is it?’

I hop on an empty corner of his desk. ‘I made reservations for us at the Plaza and afterwards, you and I can do all sorts of things in all sorts of compromising positions, if you know what I mean.’

Henry frowns, the complete opposite reaction I was expecting. ‘I can’t, baby.’

‘Why not?’ I ask him. ‘I checked your schedule and it’s all free. You have time and you should take time. You’ve been working really hard.’

‘I know, but I can’t. I have too much to do here.’

I don’t understand. He has been working non stop this week and he still doesn’t have time? He always makes time for me, for us. ‘It’s just one night, Henry,’ I try again.

‘I already told you that I can’t.’

Oh, he is in a mood? Never did he sound so… Flat and borderline annoyed when he is talking to me.

‘Oh,’ I say, not really sure how to handle this type of disappointment. ‘Sure?’

‘Damn it, Becky. Yes, I’m sure. I have tons of work to do and I cannot afford to take a break now! Some people actually have tons of work to do.’

Okay, he is mad at me now, something I totally didn’t deserve. I think I didn’t deserve it, I’m not even sure right now. Maybe this was too much? Yeah, it was too much. I shouldn’t have done that. ‘Well, excuse me for trying to do something nice for you,’ I say, sliding off his desk. ‘Good luck with work.’

‘Are you mad?’ he asks me.

He has some guts. Yes, I’m mad. ‘No, why on earth would I be?’ I ask in a petty tone, as I walk backwards towards the elevator. ‘Bye Henry, hope you finish your work.’

‘Baby, wait,’ he says, but I don’t listen. With large strides I near the elevator and get in, not even looking at him anymore. As the doors slide shut, I grab my phone and send both Genevieve and Viola a text.

Becky: You girls want to spend the evening at the Plaza?

Genevieve: Is that even a question?

Viola: When?

Becky: Thirty minutes?

Genevieve: I’ll be there in ten.

✤ ✤ ✤

Genevieve, Viola and I are sitting in the Plaza, the three of us looking over the city, as we enjoy the view. Well, they are enjoying the view. I keep on thinking about Henry. He never snaps at me like that, just like he never calls me by my name. It’s always sweetheart, darling or my favorite: baby girl. For him to call me ‘Becky’ means I did something wrong, right? Was I out of line? Should I have checked with him? I mean, surprises are meant to surprise, so I shouldn’t have told him, right?

My brain is working overtime, unable to actually enjoy hanging out with my friends.

‘Earth to Becky,’ Viola says, nudging my side. I look up from my wine glass. ‘Honey, you’re still thinking about you and Henry? It’s just a little set back, nothing too bad.’

‘Oh my,’ Genevieve says, ‘are you that disgusting type of couple that never fight? I fight with Greg all the time.’

‘We know,’ Viola butts in. ‘Come on, Gen, you know that Becky doesn’t do well with fighting. Besides, Henry is the type of man that is above pointless fights with his fiancée. Becky, what can we do for you?’

‘I don’t know. Cancel the wedding?’

Genevieve chokes on her drink. ‘For heaven’s sake, Becky, please tell me that is a joke. I swear, if you are going to cancel, I will kill you.’

I glare at her. ‘It may have been a poorly misplaced joke and a total overreaction from my side. Sorry.’

She takes a breath out of utter belief. ‘Don’t do that. I can take jokes about a lot of things, but not our wedding day.’

‘My wedding day, Gen. I’m the one getting married.’

She snorts. ‘Okay,’ she chuckles, rolling her eyes as if she cannot possibly believe that I just called it my wedding, instead of ours. ‘Anyways, I actually got a call from the bridal shop. The bridesmaids dresses are gonna be done at the end of the month, so make sure you can join us for the final fitting.’ Genevieve lets out a squeal. ‘Ah, I’m so excited. You know what comes after the wedding?’

‘Honeymoon?’ Viola and I ask.

‘Yes, that too, but also kids. I think that we should get at least once get pregnant together, because that is such a cute friendship thing for us to do.’

I don’t know if I can handle being pregnant and dealing with Gen’s hormonal mood swings, but I keep those words to myself.

‘Since our little baby factory is probably gonna have a few, Viola and I will have time enough to get it right.’

‘Do you have to call me a baby factory?’ I ask Genevieve. ‘I say once that a large family is okay for me and all of the sudden I’m a baby factory.’

‘I mean, you’re having at least two and with the way you guys are at it, there is a chance his little soldiers will find their way multiple times. One way or another.’

‘Stop talking,’ I say to Genevieve, as blood rises to my cheeks.

Viola tries to contain her laughter, but fails miserably. ‘Are you finally gonna tell her?’

Now I’m confused. ‘Tell me what?’

‘A few months back I kinda walked in on the two of you.’

Genevieve could’ve literally told me that she was gonna be president of name a country and I wouldn’t be as surprised as I am now. ‘What?’

‘Yeah, you left your keys at my place, so I figured I would bring them to you. However when I walked in, I was met with loud moans and skin slapping.’

Oh, no, I want to die.

‘It was really hilarious,’ she continues, ‘because you were on the back rest of the couch and let’s just say that you have a respectable boob size, you two kiss hella sloppy and Henry’s ass naked is delicious.’

I look at my glass of wine and gulp it all down, hoping that drinking my embarrassment and humiliation away would make the situation less awful.

It’s not working.

‘I kinda wished you never told me this,’ I mumble.

Viola finally bursts out into the loud laughter I was expecting from her a few moments ago. ‘This is gold, I wished I had this reaction on video.’

Genevieve chuckles. ‘So yeah, when I say you two are at it like bunnies, I’m not lying.’

✤ ✤ ✤

When I arrive back at the apartment, I almost forgot about the little situation Henry and I got ourselves in. Genevieve and Viola always know the exact things to tell me that makes me forget about a lot. Seeing Henry sitting on the couch, clearly beating himself up, almost makes me feel sorry for him, however I decide to be a petty bitch.

He really did hurt my feelings.

I walk straight to the kitchen and despite me hearing him follow me, I disregard my instinct and don’t turn towards him.

‘Becky,’ he says, his tone soft and slightly unsure. Him calling out my name in a tone like this, is an indication he is aware of the thin ice he is skating on.

‘Mhm?’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘What for? You were busy and I was intruding.’ I let the tea bag soak for a few moments. ‘You know, Genevieve, Viola and I had a great time together,’ I continue. ‘I arranged amazing seats at the Plaza. It had a view over the Hudson and we saw a lot of fairies.’ I know those are his favorite spots and he always tells me that one day he’ll take me on a fairy. ‘Never been on a fairy before.’ That’s a jab I knew would hurt the most. Damn, I’m awful. With the mug in my hand, I turn around, to see that Henry is looking slightly uncomfortable. ‘How was work? Did you finish it?’

He shakes his head.

Don’t say it, Becky. ‘Oh, why not?’ Damn it, Becky.

‘You serious?’ he asks. ‘We had an argument.’

‘Oh, don’t be silly, Henry. It wasn’t an argument. You were working and I had some poor planning. A small misunderstanding. Happens to all the couples some day.’

He sighs. ‘I shouldn’t have spoken to you in that tone,’ he says. ‘You were right, I could’ve needed a break. Work has been killing these last few weeks and I… I keep convincing myself I can do it all…’ He leans against the kitchen island and folds his arms. ‘Truth is, we lost some investors and I’ve been trying to rectify the situation. It’s just that it’s not working.’

Oh, I didn’t know that. Now I feel sorry for being so bitchy to him. ‘I see,’ I mumble. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘I didn’t want you to worry,’ he says.

‘You understand that I can read you like a book, right?’ I ask him. ‘Henry, I’m gonna be your wife, I know when something is bothering you.’

‘I know and to take it out on you, wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry.’

I nod, placing the mug on the counter. ‘I’m sorry too.’

‘Sorry for what?’

‘For being petty and inconsiderate of your time. I shouldn’t have just surprised you like that. I know you’re busy.’

‘But never too busy for you. You did everything right. Checked my schedules, arranged it at a time where I barely have anything to do. It was the perfect surprise. Having dinner with you at the Plaza is one of my favorite places to have dinner with you. Staring at those fairies is what we do.’ He carefully approaches, still unsure whether or not we’re on the same page. ‘You have nothing to apologize for. The only one who was at fault was me.’

I grab him by his tie and pull him in a hug, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He nuzzles his face in my neck, whispering soft apologies.

‘It’s all good,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry for being petty.’

‘No, no, no, don’t be. I deserved that one. Especially after the tone I used on you.’ He pulls back a little and presses a soft kiss on the tip of my nose. ‘How about I take you to dinner tomorrow night?’

‘Sounds good. But you have to call this time,’ I say.

Henry raises his eyebrows in surprise. ‘You made the reservations yourself?’

I nod. ‘Hence the reason I might got a little bit extra defensive.’

He smiles at me, before giving me a kiss. ‘I’m so proud of you, baby. Practice makes perfect.’

‘I know,’ I say with a soft smile on my lips. ‘We’re good again?’

‘More than good,’ he chuckles. He lifts me on the counter and stands in between my legs. ‘How was it with Genevieve and Viola?’

‘Good,’ I say, ‘just discovered that Genevieve once walked in on us having sex.’

His eyes enlarge. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, really,’ I say. ‘She told me I have a respectable boob size, we kiss sloppy and that your naked ass looks really good.’

He lets out a nervous chuckle. ‘Your boobs are perfect,’ he says and I slap him across his chest. ‘You know I can never look at her again?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I laugh. ‘It’s nothing. She’ll just pester us with it for a while and then she finds something else to humiliate me with. Really, it’s no big deal.’

March 20th 2 p.m.

I place the groceries in the fridge, after I got back home. I actually want to plan cooking Henry some dinner so I bought all the ingredients I think I need. He always does so much for me, so it’s only fair that I’m doing it too every once in a while.

Let’s just hope I don’t fail miserably.

My phone starts to ring and I quickly pick up. ‘Hello.’

‘Good afternoon, is this Becky Kim?’ a female voice asks.

I frown. ‘Yes, this is her. Is everything alright?’

‘My name is Alicia, a nurse at NewYork-Presbyterian. I’m calling in regards of Sehun Kim.’

Dad? That Sehun Kim? Too say I’m absolutely flabbergasted is an understatement. ‘Excuse me if I come off extremely rude, but I’m sure I’m not registered as his next of kin. Isn’t there someone else to call?’

‘Well miss Kim, you are his next of kin. Your father had a ruptured appendix. Thankfully he got to the hospital in time, but his health is severely declined. We are keeping him here for a few days, to see if everything is alright.’

I lean against the sink, thinking about my next move. ‘Is there anyone with him right now?’ I ask.

‘No, miss.’

I sigh deeply. What to do, what to do? ‘I’ll be there shortly.’ When I hang up the phone, I arrange the chauffeur to drive me to the hospital and I grab some stuff I need. As I step into the elevator, I text Henry to tell him what’s going on.

Becky: My dad is in the hospital, I’m going there right now

Daddy 🥰: Darling, are you okay? Do you need anything?

Becky: I’m taking the driver. Just be there when I get home?

Daddy 🥰: Of course, baby girl. Just tell me when you need something, okay?

Becky: Will do

✤ ✤ ✤

I have been looking at my father for a few minutes now from behind the glass. He looks a lot older than I remember him. I wonder why I’m next of kin and not my mom or my siblings. I mean, he hasn’t seen me in so long, I literally told my family I never wanted to see them anymore and that included him.

With my arms crossed in front of my chest, I hesitate whether or not I’m gonna open that door and walk into his room.

I mean, I kinda want to.

I always felt like my father and I were pretty much the same, however he never showed me how much he loved me. It always seemed easier to love my siblings than me, but maybe there were certain things that held him back.

I never asked him and now I finally have a chance.

Finally I mustered up the confidence to just do it. I open the door and walk in. He is awake and looks at me, but like usual he isn’t saying anything. It could be hurtful, but it doesn’t feel like that. I walk towards the side of the bed. ‘Are you okay?’ I ask him.

Still he is unable to talk, but I see it. I see his eyes filling with tears and for the first time in forever, I see the hurt he probably had to endure all this time.

‘Dad, please say something to me.’

‘I’m sorry, Becky,’ he then says, his voice breaking in the process. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘What for?’

‘For not standing up to you. For not being the dad you deserved, you needed.’ He rubs his eyes with his fingers and adds: ‘What kind of father allows this type of crap?’

I honestly don’t know, so all I can do is simply shrug. ‘I’m guessing mom wasn’t too kind on you either.’

He shakes his head. ‘She wasn’t.’

‘Then why didn’t you divorce her?’ I ask, in a harsher tone then I originally intended to. ‘Took me with you? We could’ve been happy, dad, just the two of us.’

‘I know, I know.’

‘Then why didn’t you do it? Why didn’t you stand up for me?’

‘Because I was scared.’ It must be so painful for him to admit it, but I rather want him being honest with me, then him dancing around the subject. He was scared and I can’t blame him for it. Mom was (and I presume still is) pretty scary and if she was mean to me, I don’t think I can even fathom what happened between her and dad.

‘But why am I next of kin?’ I ask. ‘You have Liam and Celine.’

‘They are not you,’ he says and that hits something deep in my heart. ‘I was too scared to call you and tell you how sorry I am, so I changed you to my next of kin a few months back. I know, it was weak and I’m a coward, but it was the only way I felt like I could do ever talk to you again.’

It happens before I can even stop it. I place my hand on his and at first, dad doesn’t move, but then he holds my hand tightly in his.

‘I’m sorry, Becky. I’m so sorry.’

‘I know,’ I say. ‘I know.’

‘I can’t imagine what you went through. I should’ve been there for you, I should’ve protected you.’

I don’t know what to say, so I simply grab a chair and drag it next to his bed, before taking place on it. ‘Then tell me everything you went through,’ I whisper, ‘maybe we can understand each other.’

✤ ✤ ✤

The afternoon turned into the night and it’s already seven p.m. when I arrive back the penthouse. It was both draining and very insightful. Everything I went through, my dad went through as well, for being a more shy personality, more serious and less out there. While I knew he would draw the short end of the stick when we were all together, he got it real bad when he was alone with my mom. The thing was: it didn’t stop when I moved out, when I told them I never wanted to see them again.

It only got worse.

Somehow me ending up in juvie, was his fault.

I close the door of the apartment and Henry says: ‘There you are. Baby girl, how are you?’

‘I’m okay,’ I say, though that is not quite the truth. ‘It went well.’

Henry stands up and walks over to me. ‘Glad to hear.’ He gives me a kiss, as his hands find mine. ‘Your dad is gonna be okay?’

‘Yeah, he just has to stay to see if all goes well tonight.’ I let out a deep sigh. ‘I missed him.’

He nods, allowing me to find the words to describe how I’m feeling.

‘We talked for a long while,’ I continue. ‘But I’m going back tomorrow, because I feel like we have a lot to catch up on. Wanna join me?’

‘If you want me to, I’ll happily go, you know that.’

I don’t want to cry, I think I did that enough the last few hours, however a few tears escape. ‘Daddy, can you hold me?’

He doesn’t waste a single second, before he hoists me up in his arms, holding me closely to his body. ‘I’m right here, sweetheart.’

I close my eyes, as I cling onto him. I start to sniffle, but it’s enough for Henry to be alerted.

‘Baby girl. What is it? What do you need?’

‘A hug.’

He pulls back a little and cocks an eyebrow. ‘That kind of hug?’

I nod. ‘Please?’

‘Of course.’ He carries me to the sauna, where he undoes me from my clothing and quickly shreds himself from his. We step into the hot sauna and I sit on his lap, before he starts the preparations. His hands massage my entire body, as I place my forehead against his. ‘I love you,’ he whispers against my lips.

‘I love you too.’

‘You did well today.’ He squeezes my breasts in his large hands, flicking my nipples and it’s already doing its magic trick in between my legs. ‘I’m proud of you, because it mustn’t be easy.’ He gives me a kiss, before he brings his lips to my hardened nipple, wrapping them around the sensitive nub.

I kiss him on his hairline. ‘You are?’

‘Oh baby, you have no idea.’

I reach down, grabbing his semi hard cock and rub his tip against my clit. I whimper, causing Henry to look up. He kisses me, soft and slow. ‘When you’re ready,’ he says.

I line him up near my throbbing entrance and I sink onto him, biting away the slight pain as I stretch around him. Henry rubs my clit and the pain quickly subdues. He leans back against the wall, pulling me onto his chest, his fingers drawing soft circles on my back.

I don’t know how long we are in this position, but when I open my eyes again, I feel pretty drowsy, almost like I fell asleep.

Henry is already awake, still holding me close against him, not caring that we’re both drenched in sweat. ‘Hi, baby girl,’ he whispers.

‘Hi.’

‘You were gone for quite a while. We’ve been here for an hour, or so.’

I smile. ‘I feel better, thank you.’

‘That’s good, that’s good.’ He gives me a kiss and says: ‘You look better.’

‘Daddy,’ I whisper, ‘I love you.’

‘Oh, I love you too.’

I rock my hips on his and he hums in content. ‘Fuck me,’ I beg. ‘Please do. I need it.’

‘How do you need it?’ he asks. ‘Rough? Soft? I’ll give it to you, baby girl. Just tell me what you need.’

I bite my lip. ‘I need it rough, daddy. Please, I need it rough.’

✤ ✤ ✤

When I ask for rough, I’ll get it even rougher. Henry used his tie to restrain my hands above my head, so he has his hands free to press the vibrator against my clit while he pounds himself inside of me. He is ruthless, but that is exactly what I need.

My mind is blank, as the only things I feel is being overpowered, loved and taken care of. I don’t know how many times I already came, but my sobs are quite telling.

‘You gonna cum again, baby?’

I nod, before my eyes roll back and my juices squirt passed him. Telling from his grunts, he is close as well.

‘Shit, baby girl, you feel so fucking good around me.’ He throws the vibrator to the side, tightening his grip on my hips, as I ride out my high. I’m a crying mess, tears dripping over my cheeks and that’s about the same time his hips stutter against mine, his warm seed spilled deep inside of me. He unties my hands, before giving me a sloppy kiss. ‘You okay?’ he asks, still buried inside of me.

‘I’m fine, I’m fine.’

‘You feel better?’

I smile. ‘I do, thank you, daddy. I needed that.’

He gives me a kiss on my lips and wipes away the tears. ‘You want to talk about it or not?’

‘I don’t want to talk about it. I’m just glad you helped me out here.’ I place my hands on his chest. ‘Could need a shower, though.’

‘I know,’ he chuckles. ‘How about you take a shower, I’ll clean up in here and then join you?’

‘Sounds good to me,’ I whisper. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you too, baby girl.’

March 21st 11 a.m.

The next day I’m back at the hospital, only this time I took Henry with me. He holds my hand in his and gives me a reassuring kiss on my fingers. ‘You want me in there with you two immediately?’ he asks me.

I don’t need to think about that for very long, because I quickly nod. ‘Of course. I actually quite need you in there.’

We stop in front of his door and I take a deep breath before knocking three times and peaking around the corner. ‘Dad,’ I say, causing him to look up from his book, ‘I’m back and brought someone.’

Henry and I step into the room and my dad nods, taking in Henry. ‘Your fiancé,’ dad says, closing his book. Yesterday I told him a lot about Henry already, especially because my dad read my interview and actually figured out how to check my Instagram. It was his own way to keep track of me and for some odd reason, I’m glad he did. He holds out his hand and Henry is quick to take it. ‘I’m Sehun, nice to meet you.’

‘My name is Henry, sir. It’s great to meet you too.’ He pulls two chairs next to dad’s bed and we both take a seat.

I take his hand into mine and say: ‘Dad, how are you feeling?’

‘Better, better.’ Dad stares at Henry and says: ‘It doesn’t take a genius to see how happy you are with each other.’

I smile, my other hand blindly searching Henry’s.

‘I also don’t need to tell you, but you need to take good care of her.’

Henry nods. ‘Don’t you worry, sir, I take good care of her.’

My dad looks up at the ceiling, tears in his eyes.

‘Dad, please,’ I say, ‘it’s all okay. We spoke about this yesterday: I don’t blame you. Not at all, not in the slightest.’

He has never been the talkative type, I know that. It pains me to see how crushed he is, how much he is beating himself up. I understand that he feels like that, however I am not mad. After yesterday’s talk I understood and realized I never wanted to be mad at him at all.

‘I don’t know if you can make it and if you even want to, but you—and you alone—can come to the wedding if you want. It’s a little short notice, I know, but Henry and I would love it if you were there.’

Dad simply nods. ‘I would love that too,’ he says in a hoarse tone. ‘Just… You have to help me with something first.’

‘And what is that?’

‘Help me arrange a divorce.’

Don’t overreact, Becky. The rush of utter euphoria fills my body. He wants to divorce my mom? After all those years? Is there an opportunity I could still have that relationship with my dad I have always secretly wanted and wished for.

I look over my shoulder to Henry, who seems to read my eyes. ‘I can arrange something with my lawyer,’ Henry says, squeezing my fingers. ‘You know what, I’ll call him right now. Maybe we can arrange something very soon.’

Henry leaves the room, holding his phone in his hand and my dad nods. ‘You have a nice fiancé,’ he says. ‘Takes good care of you.’

I smile. ‘Yeah, he does. He is the love of my life.’

Dad tilts his head. ‘You sure you want me there?’

‘Yes, I’d love to. We have an entire month to get to know each other and that of course won’t change after the wedding. We could look for an apartment for you, make sure you can start a new life.’

‘It’s a father’s job to protect and take care of his kids, not the other way around.’ He sighs deeply and says: ‘I have never taken care of you. Protected you from those vile words spilled from your mom and siblings.’

‘But you will,’ I say. ‘Please, it’s all good. Know and accept that, okay? I want to work on our relationship and that can start with an apartment when you are released from this awful place.’

For the first time he widely smiles. ‘I’m a lucky man for having a daughter like you.’

Henry enters the room again and says: ‘Well, I spoke to my lawyer and he is ready to meet you in a few days. There is a possibility he can expedite the process.’

Dad nods again. ‘Thank you, Henry. Now please sit, so I can get to know you.’

✤ ✤ ✤

When Henry and I are back in the car after hours of getting to know my father, tears finally drip over my tears. ‘Baby girl,’ he says, ‘it’s okay. You did amazing.’

‘I just don’t know why I’m crying, especially because I’m happy. I’m happy with all of this, however it’s just that… I wish there was more I could do.’

‘You are doing all you can,’ he says. ‘And your dad knows that.’

I hide my face in my hands and I feel Henry’s hand in the back of my neck. He presses a kiss on the top of my head.

‘I love you, baby girl and we’ll get through this.’

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x oc #henry cavill x asian ofc #henry cavill x becky kim #sugar daddy!henry cavill #sugar sugar #becky kim #asian ofc

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michelemoutons · 3 years ago

Text

and at last, the post that maybe three people maximum have been waiting for...

em's comfort retro rally videos: a masterlist!

in a much-needed return to this blog's roots, and as an antidote to all motorsport- and life-related chaos, i now present to you: the first edition of em's favorite retro rally videos!

general disclaimer/info: these videos mainly come from the group B era of the world rally championship (wrc), which generally speaking was in the '80s. i am only human, so expect a lot of bias toward my personal favorites...which will become very apparent as you read this list hehe. also i'm not even gonna pretend to be an expert on this or anything. a lot of these are literally just based on Vibes

table of contents

i. my top 5 rally coverage videos

mainly coverage for television, recorded on VHS and uploaded to YouTube by some truly incredible people

ii. honorable mentions

not rally coverage, but retro rally videos nevertheless

often documentaries, mini-doc features, interviews

for all videos, i have indicated the language (most are in english fyi); if any links fail or videos disappear, send me an ask or DM and i'll remove the culprit/find an alternative link.

and now, onward!

(TW for occasional flash photography in many of the night sequences of the videos, as well as a gif included in this post)

i. my top 5 rally coverage videos

in which my bias toward audi sport, mouton/pons, mikkola, toivonen, and vatanen are put on blast for all to see 🥴 i am not an expert in anything i am just very good at research and a whore for aud—[SNIPED]. for the sake of brevity, i narrowed my favorites down to 5. maybe another time i will share all the rest!

also, a general note about the commentary: sometimes, the commentary around michèle and fabrizia can get... weird. keep in mind, they were the most prominent female team partnership around that time, and the first to nearly clinch a wrc wdc, and to modern ears, the commentators really didn't know how to act around them. personally, it wasn't horrible for me, i just ignored the weirder bits, but i understand if others might find it off-putting. also for the sake of your sanity don't read the comments.

5. Rally of the 1000 Lakes, 1984 | finland

link: overall coverage (eng)

podium: vatanen/alén/toivonen (full final results)

comments: this was definitely a rally for most of audi sport's drivers to forget: bar stig blomqvist, who came quite close to the podium finishers with a 4:14:01 to henri toivonen's 4:12:57! both hannu mikkola and michèle mouton had to retire from the race, which may lead you to wonder: why does this rank among my favorites? well, it's always fun to watch group b rally cars sailing through the air against picturesque scenery, and this video also contains an intriguing (at least for me!) look at the scrutineering process, with drivers at their most casual.

owie :( they were fine though!

4. Lombard RAC Rally, 1981 | britain

link: overall coverage (eng)

podium: mikkola/vatanen/blomqvist (full final results)

comments: hannu winning by 11 whole minutes even after rolling his car in the middle of the forest is actual legend behavior! anyway this was michèle's first wrc outing in britain, and even though she and fabrizia had to retire, they still did quite well, consistently running high in the leaderboards after the first few stages. and that's considering the fact that michèle had a bad cold for much of the rally and had to ask fabrizia to drive the car to service park for her at one point bc she was so tired. which fabrizia did... with a pencil in her mouth. lot of big names in one video—also, jean todt makes an appearance as a co-driver!

shamelessly poached off of one of my text post edits

3. Marlboro Safari Rally, 1983 | kenya

link: overall coverage (eng)

podium: vatanen/mikkola/mouton (full final results)

comments: ok can i just say how stunning the video presentation is?? the opening sequence is just!!! the shots of the wildlife! the sprinting giraffes! wow! anyway the visual of drivers in deck chairs just tickles me for no reason, and michèle please tell me what you ask for at the hairdresser's and also where you got that orange blouse (this is obviously not just specific to this rally, she always eats and leaves no crumbs). this was michèle's first entry and only finish in kenya (and of course it was a podium mwah). it was also her last wrc entry in the A1 quattro, as she switched to the A2 for the rest of her program in the '83 season. also this is one of my favorite podium pictures ever.

lksdjffnnkd there's almost too much to unpack... fabrizia somehow surviving in high waist jeans in a hot car... michèle's do-it-yourself shorts... this podium picture was the subject of a very frantic video chat conversation between myself and a friend at 2am a few months ago

2. Rallye de Portugal, 1982 | portugal

links: short recap (eng) | overall coverage 1, stuck in the middle of two other rallies. timestamps in descrip. (eng) | overall coverage 2, very vibey with cool music (ita... also peep walter röhrl speaking italian)

podium: mouton/eklund/wittmann (full final results)

comments: GOD I LOVE THIS ONE SO MUCH AAAA! michèle's first podium of '82 being a win? this rally being the one where there's footage of her going shopping with fabrizia afterward? (more on that later) them winning by 13 whole minutes? and that's not even considering THEE most poetic victory ceremony of all time! in fact let me talk about that bc the racing and the win aside, that's why it's so high up on my list! literally poetic cinema! it's night, they're standing on top of the car and floodlit and surrounded by cheering crowds but they may as well be the only ones there in their own little world, laughing at each other and barely even having to look to each other when they're raising their hands—like god! shut up! we get it you're besties 😭

i_just_think_theyre_neat.png

and now... last but certainly never least...

1. Lombard RAC Rally, 1982 | britain

link: overall coverage (eng)

podium: mikkola/mouton/toivonen (full final results)

comments: firstly, if you were to ask me about my dream podium, this would be it. hands down, across all series of motorsport, my comfort podium would be hannu, michèle, and henri in any order. (there's such a cute picture of them from this rally on pinterest, standing in order on a staircase. henri is not looking at the camera because he is laughing at something michèle is saying and it's such a Vibe but i cannot find it wah). the battle for second between michèle and henri ran down to literally the last stage, and their times are separated by seconds, which is just wild to me. the context of this rally deserves another post, which i honestly don’t have the energy to make rn, but just take my word for it that it threatens to destroy me if i think about it too hard! anyway this is just such an awesome rally and i’ve watched this video so many times haha

i love this rally so much that i actually had a character in a story i was writing attend the ceremony captured in this picture as a small child and made it a formative moment in her life. no, there is nothing wrong with me.

ii. honorable mentions

(is it obvious who my faves are? yikes)

'Group B - Avec Michele Mouton' (eng) - taken from a longer feature presentation about group b, a segment specifically about michèle. a friend once described its vibes as ‘a synth wave edit of an 80s anime set in a cyberpunk world about racing’

'1983 Audi Sport National Rally with Michele Mouton' (eng) - in which michèle takes journalist sue baker as a co-driver for a spin in an A1 and a rally win. fun behind-the-scenes video

'Intervista a Fabrizia Pons, la Regina delle Note' 1, 2, 3 (ita) - very thorough interview which is mostly fabrizia telling all sorts of stories, including the very entertaining story of how she found out she was going to be michèle’s co-driver. also what a badass title

'2008 Otago International Classic Rally' (eng) - THE BESTIES REUNITE THE BESTIES REUNITE!!! michèle and fabrizia reunite for a rally that fabrizia convinced michèle to join, they suffer some problems but there are plenty of wholesome bestie moments to be had

'Michele Mouton hurls Group B Audi Quattro up Goodwood hill' (eng) - i mean, self explanatory. the sound of the chirping tires? asmr could never. very short watch if you want a quick pick-me-up

'1990 Louise Aitken-Walker feature' (eng) - a video featuring a female rally driver from scotland and her point-scoring run at the rallye monte -carlo. i am convinced that louise was john finnemore’s inspiration or at least an influence for the character of linda fairbairn. no my hat is not made of tin foil what are you talking about

hannu rocketing around michigan back in 2017 (eng)

hannu flying around goodwood in 2015 (eng)

sometimes i listen to fabrizia's recent onboards (yes, she's still at it!) and this one is one of my favorites, from 2016 (ita)

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wyn-n-tonic · 4 years ago

Text

Golden, Like Daylight -- Part III

Word Count: 1,810 Warnings: Mentions of drug use. PTSD. Guns. Ben Affleck. As always, if I missed anything, please send me a message and I'll amend this warning ASAP. A/N: As you can tell, I'm a slut for dialogue.

MASTERLIST | PART: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX

gif by: @santigogarcia.

“Francisco,” she’s swaying back and forth with a sleeping Luna in her arms and he can hear the pleading in her voice, “please don’t do this.”

He waited until the absolute last second to tell her but she knew as soon as she got his text—

Pope’s here. I’m gonna bring him by tomorrow to meet Luna, okay?

“Baby,” he catches her hip and pulls her into him, “it’s just a couple of days, consulting work. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“No,” she’s shaking her head, tears threatening to spill over, “you promised me. You looked me in the eye and you said, Leah, I’m done with this shit. Why are you going?”

He licks his lips and looks to Santi in the hallway, pretending to be lost in his phone. He knows he’s not.

“I’ll call you when we get to Colombia. I’ll call you every night and again when I’m on the plane home. Te prometo, ay?”

“Stop making promises,” she pulls away from him, hand on his chest to steady her shaking body, “we’ve established you don’t keep them.”

His hands find her shoulders and squeeze, “Baby, it’s almost twenty grand. We can pay off the car or,” he stammers, “your student loans. We can breathe.”

Frankie sees the words trying to formulate in front of him, the cogs of her mind turning behind her eyes. He’s bracing himself for what’s next but all she does is pull away, the only acknowledgement of the fact that she can’t stop him.

She turns on her heel and he watches her walk out the room, stopping as Santi picks up where Frankie left off.

“Stop being so harsh on him, he needs this. Your family needs this.”

Frankie takes in a breath as Leah’s free hand collides with Santi’s cheek and before he can even react, she’s rounding on him again.

“Don't you dare tell me what my family needs, Santiago Garcia. I love you because he loves you but you are nothing but trouble.”

She can feel Frankie coming up behind her, shifting the air again because he’s nothing but nerves but Santi’s too hot to notice.

“He'll be fine, Leah, you worry too goddamn much,” he wants to shout, that’s evident in his demeanor. "He’s a big boy, if he didn’t want to go, he’d tell me.”

“Baby,” Frankie’s hand wraps around her elbow, trying to gently coax her into his arms. He wants to lead her back to the bedroom. Hold her. Convince her.

“No,” she pulls away, eyes still hard on Pope, “the best case scenario is that he comes home alive, Santiago. But he’s not fine. And who’s here picking up the pieces? It’s not you.”

“Leah, I swear. It's just a consultation,” his jaw sets with the lie he fed the rest of them, like his body is finally rebelling to the bullshit but he continues on, “your husband will come home.”

Frankie’s still got one hand wrapped around her elbow, another on her back. Her anger is a hurricane, he can feel it churning deep inside as her voice comes out lower, “He better or—“

“Or what?” Santiago's face splits into a shit eating grin, “you'll try to kill me again? How is your sister by the way?”

“I won’t kill you, Santi, but I will put a bullet through the bad knee and I’ll make sure William gets me the good shit. The kind that shreds through tendon and bone like a blender.”

Nodding, Santi sucks the air through his teeth, “You can try but I honestly think you’re too chicken shi—“

“¡Basta!” Enough!

Frankie’s pulling on Leah again, the hand that was resting on the small of her back making its way to Luna now. Luna, who up until her father’s raised voice—the voice he never wanted her to know—was sleeping perfectly against her mother. Completely, blissfully unaware of the firefight happening around her.

“Pope,” his voice is shaking, “you need to go.”

“Fine,” he pulls his phone back up to his face. “I’ll pick you up for the airport tomorrow.”

“No,” he feels the hope emanating from Leah as he watches Santi’s face fall, “if I come, I’ll meet you there but this isn’t a conversation you’re involved in anymore.”

“Wha—what the fuck does that mean? I started the conversation.”

Leah pads back into the bedroom, heart aching, with Luna in her arms. Frankie watches as she closes the door and rounds on Santiago, slamming his back into the wall behind him with enough force to shake the house and when he speaks again, it’s measured and even. This is the calmest he has been in weeks.

It’s not a threat.

“If you ever speak to my wife like that again, she’s not the one you have to worry about putting a bullet into your body.”

It’s a promise. —————

Fish is most talented pilot I know—

He swings his assault rifle back, opting for the Glock 19 at his side, Santi’s words ringing through his ears.

—and he’s grounded on a bullshit coke rap.

His boots fall heavy through the mansion, he doesn’t give a shit about stealth. Threw every care in the world out the door the moment Tom started digging for more. What they had was more than enough but he could never just have enough. Had to push for more. Every fucking time.

Another lap. Another sweep. Another round.

But he never missed a hard out, Benny was right about that.

Bullshit coke rap. Every misstep Frankie made, every struggle he faced, was just a bullshit mark on a hardened warrior. That’s all they ever saw him as, Tom and Santi. All remorse drained from his soul in the name of God and country.

Frankie squeezes the trigger, eyes lighting up in the muzzle flash. If he was going to take their lives, he was going to see it drain from their faces.

If he was inflicting this horror on his mind again, making Leah puzzle his shit back together again, he was going to earn it.

The gun hangs heavy in his hand as he steps over the bound and gagged body, following the sound of the rain.

"Fish, where are you?” Tom’s voice scratches at the edge of his skull. His nickname is a stark reminder that there is a separation between man and monster and he can find it again.

He’s shaking as he reaches for the button on his collar, “I'm exiting back out to the courtyard.”

She was right, telling him to stop making promises. He said no live fire and he couldn’t even keep that to himself. —————

“Is he right?” She’s quiet as Frankie lifts their daughter from her aching arms, “Is this what you need?”

“Yeah,” it comes out quiet, leveling up to the bouncing he’s now taken over to keep the baby asleep, “I think it is.”

“Why?” It’s not accusatory, she genuinely wants to know.

“I—“ he stops to think, he doesn’t want his words to come out selfish but he knows that’s how they’ll land. “Baby, I know I brought all of this down on myself and I know that I’ve survived it once before but…”

He trails off, his large hand is splayed across Luna’s back to support her as he resettles her in his arms. A small sound of contentedness escapes her and he can’t believe he’s missed this for the last six weeks. Spent months on end higher than any fucking plane he flew just because he was afraid of failing her. He chokes on the lump building in his throat because he already has.

“But what, baby?”

“I fucked up,” he takes a deep breath to steady himself, “this has been the hardest year of my life, the last six weeks especially.”

Bad landing.

She takes a breath, a tiny spark in her eyes but he’s already in front of her, “Mi alma, let me finish. Please.”

She nods, agreeing to his appeal.

"Before, the only thing I had to lose was my license. Now, the license was just the tip of the pyramid. This shit could’ve cost me my life. In more ways than one. I know what they cut the drugs with now and my nightmares are no longer about what I did in the service, Leah. Will and Benny hold me down screaming in the middle of the night as I imagine I’ve left this shit out for you or Luna to find.”

He laughs at the love and concern in her eyes, not feeling he deserves it but he forges on anyway, “I snorted our finances into desolation. We can’t live on a teacher’s salary alone, baby, you know that. How far behind is the car payment?”

“Just a month now,” she whispers, “my sisters helped us catch up.”

“And you hate that! You’re too prideful to ask for help, too full of protection for me. This will set us back on the right track.”

She’s standing now, arms crossed to anchor her own sobs from escaping, “Frankie, we can survive until your drug test—“

“No,” he’s shaking his head, “it’s still another six weeks away.”

“You don’t have to do this, baby, I know you don’t want to.”

"I cannot let you struggle like this,” he’s shifting Luna again, her tiny fists balled into his shirt and he is devastated with his love for her, “I am supposed to provide for and protect this family. It was in my vows and I broke those.”

“For richer or poorer was also in the fucking vows, Francisco.”

He swallows hard, reaching out and pulling her into him. He can’t bear to see her face when he speaks again, his voice low with the confidence of a settled mind.

“I am going to Colombia." —————

He feels the stone falling from beneath him as he loses the mule to the mountainside, last in line of the five.

He should’ve done more. Held on tighter, walked faster. But as Santiago saw an animal and Tom saw money, he could only see himself falling over.

He lost count of the days he hadn’t called. Two? Three? Hadn’t heard her voice or the baby’s babbling as she responds to daddy. He saw himself at the bottom of that mountain. Never enunciating each syllable of Pa-pa for his little girl ever again, convincing himself that he would be her first word. Never pulling Leah into his arms, the scent of coconut and vanilla so profoundly intoxicating that all he could think about was sinking deep into her. All the comfort and clarity the world had to offer found in her arms and between her legs.

She insisted on the nicest sheets they could find and instead of falling into them, he only felt jagged rock at his back.

#i believe in francisco morales supremacy #frankie morales #francisco 'catfish' morales #francisco morales #triple frontier #fanfic #fanfiction #oc #ofc #original character #original female character #santiago 'pope' garcia #santiago garcia #waiting patiently for santi lovers to murder me tbh #okay but frankie was actually baby #okayloveyoubye #pedro pascal

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karlajoyner · 4 years ago

Note

Can I request a Charlie Gillespie x reader , where Charlie Gillespie is the reader’s boyfriend who dress as a clown for Madison Reys’s halloween party while they were in Canada and where Jeremy and Owen dress as clowns too to scare to Charlie’s girlfriend who is the reader but she hates getting scared.

It’s Stupid (Charlie Gillespie x Reader)

A/n: Hey guys so I hope you enjoy this one. I don't know if I'm gonna post the sunset curve one next yet because I have so much to work on for it. So I might post the one after unless you guys are willing to wait! Let me know if you are if you'd just prefer I post the next one!

Requested by: @fantomlovesjuke4ever (Tumblr)

Warnings: None

————

I placed the orange beanie over my head. Finally finishing off my final look.

Giggling to myself I walked out into the living room to see Savannah there in her Kim Possible outfit.

"How do I look?"

"Oh my god Charlie's gonna die!" She laughed throwing her head back.

"You look great"

"Are you sure it's not too....booby" I said moving the muscle tee away from my body to show my black bra. The muscle tee being directly from the show itself courtesy of the wardrobe department.

"It's Madison's Halloween party. I don't wanna show up looking like a slut"

"It's not too booby. You look great plus no ones gonna get to look under there except Charlie" She teased.

I playfully rolled my eyes grabbing a large oversized jacket to cover my costume.

"Where'd Tori go?"

"She went to go check on the boys to see if they were almost ready"

"Oh sounds good. Hey thanks again for letting me room with you two"

"Of course you know you're always welcome when your here. Plus I know Kenny always appreciates that you choose not to room with your boyfriend when you visit us"

"Kenny and apparently Owen too" I said earning a giggle from the girl.

"Tori just texted said the boys are ready and scary"

"Really?"

"Yeah. What's Charlie gonna be this year?" She asked as I grabbed my phone off the kitchen countertop.

"Beats me. He said it was top secret"

"Same for Owen and Jer" She spoke as I received a message from my boyfriend himself.

"Oh" I muttered.

"What's up?"

"Charlie just texted they'll meet us there. Something about needing the makeup department"

"Oh my"

"I just hope it's not anything too scary. I hate anything terrifying. I don't even watch scary movies at night due to the fact that I'm a complete wimp"

"Does Charlie know that?" Savannah bit her lip.

"Of course we've been dating for 6 months. If he didn't I'd be worried" I said walking out the front door.

I sighed stepping out of the Uber taking in the freezing cold air. Nothing too bad.

"How are you not freezing your socks off?" Tori asked.

"Toro you forget I've lived in Canada my whole life. You Californians cannot take the cold"

"Your the female version of Charlie. It's actually crazy" The girl said as she looped her arm through my own.

"Yeah he kinda rubbed off on me" I smiled walking into the warehouse with my two temporary roommates.

Immediately we spotted Madison, Sacha and Jadah.

"Y/n!" Madison and Jadah shouted running up to me.

"There's my angel. And my devils" I grinned at my boyfriends cast mates. Taking in the warmth's of the new surrounding.

"Okay let's see it. I've been waiting in anticipation to see your take on Luke Patterson" I giggled opening up the jacket to reveal the rest of my costume.

"You look great!"

"I think you look better than Charlie"

"Yeah my guns look great too don't they?" I asked flexing my arms causing laughter to erupt from the group.

"Okay seriously though where's my boyfriend and his posse"

"We have no idea"

"I do" Sacha stated smirking at me.

"Are you going to tell me?" I asked.

"Nope" As soon as the word left his lips my phone dinged.

"It's Charlie. He's asking me to meet him in the makeup. Where's that?"

"I'll walk you" Sav said taking my hand. We made it to a large door with windows to peer in.

"It's dark" I stated jiggling the knob to find it locked.

"Well that's weird" Sav said knocked. My eyebrows furrowed in confusion as the door opened slowly.

"Take my hand"

"Okay Troy Bolton" Savannah said making me giggle. We walked forward slowly my heart dropping feeling a pair of arms grab my waist. I screamed in fear as the lights turned on. The three faces in front of me smiling widely.

"Ahhh" I shut my eyes hugging Savannah tightly. Who seem to have had a similar reaction because she didn't hesitate to pull me close either. My heart beating out of my chest wanting nothing more than to curl up in a ball and cry all my anxiety out. We gripped onto each other for dear life as......laughter erupted?

I slowly peeled my eyes open to see Charlie laughing loudly clutching his stomach along with Owen and Jeremy. A frown fell upon my face as I let the light haired girl go.

"Charlie" I whispered a small tear escaping my eyes.

The laughter quickly died down. Charlie's face now expressing concern.

"Y/n baby what's wrong?"

I scoffed walking past Savannah to be anywhere but here.

Flashback

"Come on babe"

"Charlie I'm serious. I hate scary movies and I hate being scared. It sends me into this weird panic mode and I get anxious" I ranted watching him turn the tv off.

"You probably think I'm some sort of freak who can't take a joke. If you don't wanna date me anymore that's fine but just don't make me watch that movie especially right now" I spoke looking out the window into the darkness of the dimly lit street.

"Why would you ever think I wouldn't want to date you because of this?" He asked hurt flashing his eyes.

"I don't know. It's just my past boyfriends have called me lame for not wanting to go out to a scary movie with them at night. Or not wanting to dress up as some sort of badass scary character for Halloween. It just sucks to be left out because of some stupid irrational fear"

"It's anything but irrational. So you got a fear of something. We all do. Hey I'm insanely afraid of spiders"

"Really?" I asked biting my lips.

"Yeah baby. It's a stupid fear I know but something about their long legs makes me just ugh" He said getting the chills.

"It's not stupid. Thanks Charlie" I smiled.

"Anytime y/n. Now come on" He spoke sticking his hand out to me.

"What about the movie?"

"We're still watching a movie. Frozen to be exact. Upstairs in my room, cuddling up in a pillow fort. Sound good?"

"Sounds amazing" I grinned taking it. I sighed contently as he pulled my into a hug.

"I promise I won't scare you or take any of your fears with a pinch of salt"

"I promise to do the same" I said looking up at the boy in front of me. Looking up at the face that I was slowly but surely falling in love with.

I made my way back towards the party immediately spotting Madi and Tori talking. Their eyes landed on me quickly sensing something wrong.

I made my way over to them wiping away the strayed water droplets under my eyes.

"Hey what's wrong?"

"The guys are assholes" I spoke bitterly.

"Did they scare you too?" Madison asked as I nodded. The two understanding me immediately.

"Yeah..... Its just when Charlie and I started dating I specifically explained to him why I don't like being scared and he promised he'd never take that one specific fear and use it against me. And he just scared the living crap out of me and Savannah. Which I'm glad I did figure out it was him and the boys before I passed out or puked. I'd expect it from Owen and Jer but my own boyfriend. I know it's stupid and I probably over reacted but I just- I've always made sure to kill every damn spider in our damn apartment so he wouldn't have to do it. And he does this to me"

"I don't think you overreacted. You have the right to be mad"

"You think?"

"Yeah but I also know Charlie's an idiot and needs to be reminded of things from time to time"

"You're right" I sighed.

"Look he's obviously gonna apologize. Just don't be too hard on him. His memories almost as bad as his handwriting" Madison joked making me let out a strangled chuckle hearing my name being called.

"Y/n! Y/n! Where is she?" Charlie shouted running into the room. The music coming to a halt.

All eyes landed on me as Charlie ran up to me.

"Please continue" I awkwardly chuckled pulling the brunette off into a random hallway.

The loud music blaring through the speakers once more.

"What is it Charles?" I spoke sternly turning around to face the boy who's makeup was much worse than before.

"Y/n baby I'm so sorry we pranked you. The boys convinced me that it'd be funny to get as many people as we could today. I didn't know you'd get so upset. I'll go take off this stupid costume right now if you want me to but please don't be mad at me baby. I love you" He finished nearly out of breath. I took in a deep breath hearing the sadness in his voiced as he had ranted like any other time he screwed up which wasn't very often. But still.

"Do you remember the night we watched frozen in your room?" I questioned nervously playing with the rings on my fingers. Another prop from Luke's character that tied my costume together.

"Of course it was amazing. We made a pillow fort and ate popcorn and afterwards we did stuff that was definitely not pg 13" He smirked making me roll my eyes.

"Do you remember why we watched frozen?" I spoke once more hoping he would get where I was going with my questions.

"Yeah we watched it because- oh. Y/n I'm so sorry. I'm such an idiot I can't believe I forgot about that"

"Yeah......Listen I'm not mad that your a clown which by the way I do happen to also be afraid of too but it's not gonna kill me. And I'm certainly not mad at Owen and Jeremy because they wanted to have a little fun tonight. But they didn't know about my anxiety that I get whenever I get scared. You did Charlie"

"I know I did" He groaned throwing his head back.

"And if my memory wasn't so damn bad I wouldn't have even thought about doing it baby. I hope you know that. And I'll do literally anything to get you to forgive me starting with never putting you through that again when your with me" He spoke taking my hands in his.

I sighed intertwining our fingers pulling him close to me.

"I know you won't. I also might have overreacted a bit" I said nuzzling my face into his chest.

His arms immediately wrapping around me completely.

"You didn't overreact. Overreacting is me when I see a spider. In all seriousness I love you and I'm really sorry for doing that"

"It's fine Charlie. I'll get my revenge on you guys" I spoke kissing his cheek before skipping away back to the party.

"Y-you're what? Wait baby your what? Y/n!" I heard him call after me as I laughed.

————

Up Next: Sunset Curve x Reader (Maybe)

Carrie Wilson x Reader

Owen Patrick Joyner x Reader

Charlie Gillespie x Reader

Alex x Male Reader

————

@lolychu @headheartbellarke @bookish0918 @kcd15 @ifilwtmfc @moviesbooksandfandoms @lovesanimals @lavender-writer @kaitieskidmore1 @morganayennefertyrell @iloveteenwolf @ghostofmgg

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addercharmer · 3 years ago

Text

Aizawa Shōta blinked slowly at Tsukauchi Naomasa, the detective was standing on his door holding the hand of a small child, looking somewhere between having a full nervous breakdown, crying, and worryingly serious.

“Tsukauchi, what can I do for you?” Shōta asked, his voice rough with having been forced out of a nap.

“Aizawa.” The detective started, paused, took a deep breath and tried again. “Aizawa, could we please come in and speak to you and Yamada?” The hand that was being held by the small child jerked a little to show who ‘we’ were.

Opening the door further, Shōta turned his back on the detective as a way of granting them entry. He turned on his heel and made his way to the kitchen. He felt like he was going to need several pots of coffee to deal with whatever the slightly older man was going to dump on him.

The quiet thump of shoes and click of the door shutting were the only indication of the two following his silent invitation. The light steps that he could hear coming closer then further away told him that Tsukauchi was headed to the living room of his home was enough of a warning to have Shōta calling his husband instead of texting like he had been planning.

It took all of six rings for the other man to answer. "Shō! What's up?" Yamada Hizashi sounded a little breathless as he answered.

"Tsukauchi is here, with a kid." Shōta grunted into the mic of his cell. "Come home." He ordered the blonde, and hung up before even giving the blond a chance to say anything.

Shuffling his way into the living room without his coffee, and eyeing Tsukauchi with wry dark eyes, Shōta stiffly sat in his favorite spot on the loveseat that was kiddy-corner to the couch that was being occupied.

"Yamada is out. I called him to come home, if this can't wait for him then we can get it over with." Shōta told Tsukauchi after he had made himself comfortable.

He watched closely as Tsukauchi eyes the kid sitting next to him, still gripping his hand tightly. The detective looked closer to having that breakdown the longer he looked at the kid, it was honestly starting to worry the underground hero a little.

The silence felt like it dragged on far longer than the forty-seven seconds Shōta counted.

"Probably best to wait, you both will need some support." The last part was muttered under Tsukauchi's breath, and Shōta figured that he wasn't supposed to hear it.

The next twenty minutes were spent with idle chatter, both adults in the room getting tencer as each minute passed. At twenty-two minutes the front door opened and shut, the sound of heavy boots clunking on the floor as they were taken off and dropped pushed the expression on Tsukauchi's face closer to resigned and sad.

"Ah, hello Tsukauchi. You needed me home?" Hizashi's voice called from just outside of Shōta's peripherals.

"Yamada, Aizawa." Tsukauchi's tone was a forced flat, Shōta recognized it as the one that was used for grieving families.

"I offer my condolences Aizawa. Your sister Midoriya Inko was found dead yesterday morning, the investigation is still open and I cannot share much more." Shōta froze, he hadn't spoken to his sister since his wedding, not that they had much contact before that even. It had caused all kinds of issues when Inko had shown up and recognized Hizashi as someone she had had a one night stand with when they had met at a college party when Shōta and Hizashi had been sixteen.

"That being said, Midoriya Inko's will stated that her daughter Izumi would go to you and or her biological father first, in the event that she was not welcome there she was to be put in foster care." Many things in Tsukauchi's tone were sending off very loud warning signals that Shōta wasn't sure he even wanted to hear much else.

Hizashi had grabbed his hand from where he had seated himself next to Shōta when the news of his sister's passing was delivered, he squeezed tighter when the kid was brought up.

"Yamada, your daughter was dropped off in front of the police station six days ago where officer Sansa and myself have been taking care of her, until her paternity test came back." At this Shōta felt Hizashi stiffen next to him.

"I would like to introduce you to Midoriya Izumi. She is your niece Aizawa, and your daughter Yamada." The strain in Tsukauchi's voice was very clear, and Shōta idly wondered how his sister had hidden a full on child from him for four years.

"What?" The question was quiet, but full of hysteria. "No...I...what?" Hizashi tried again before Shōta felt his body just collapse in on itself.

The words Tsukauchi had said were making their way through Shōta's brain but they weren't fully being processed.

The sniffle caught his attention finally, it was the first sound he had heard from the kid. Giving his head a firm shake Shōta finally took a look at the kid.

The kid's hair was a wild mess of waves and curls, it was black but it looked to have lime green highlights naturally sprinkled through it, her eyes were the same toxic green as Hizashis' they even had darker green that spiraled out from the pupil.

The freckles that were dusted across pale skin reminded him of his own mother, she had been of mixed nationality, holding citizenship in both Japan and Canada. His own freckles would show up when he had been in the sun, which made him avoid the giant ball of burning gas even more no matter how much he missed and tried to remember his mother.

The kid's ears were starting to turn red much like his own do when he is overly emotional. That observation finally kicked his numb body into moving.

Still holding his husband's hand in a death grip he dropped off the loveseat and onto his knees in front of the kid who was holding onto Tsukauchi so tightly that her knuckles were white.

"Hey kid, did Inko ever talk to you about me?" Shōta asked, trying to distract the kid from the coming tears.

The kid 'Izumi' he forced himself to recall shook her head and nibbled on her lip like she wanted to say something.

"Do you know who I am?" He tried, it was highly unlikely that the kid knew him, but the nod shocked him into staring at toxic green eyes longer.

"How?" Was out of his mouth before he could stop it.

"Pictures. Inko had pictures with names and days on the back." Okay there were a lot of things in that sentence and tone that needed to be analyzed later, but Shōta pushed it aside to get some other questions answered.

Nodding, Shōta asked his next pressing question. "Do you know who he is?" He jerked his head towards the silent blond that was in a still unresponsive heap next to him.

Izumi nodded again, her ears taking on a deeper red color. "Pictures?" Shōta asked, getting another nod in return.

Squeezing his eyes closed tightly and shaking the hand that Hizashi was still holding roughly, Shōta was in no way prepared for the next words that were spoken.

"It's okay if you don't want me, Inko and Hisashi didn't want me, that's why they left me at the police." It was so quiet that Shōta wanted to convince himself that he had imagined it.

Shōta stilled, he wasn't sure what to say, and he was pretty close to either a panic attack or disassociating much like he husband was doing.

Tsukauchi cleared his throat, it jerked Shōta out of his thoughts long enough for the detective to say.

"We came for introductions and to share the information, Izumi will be staying with either myself or Sansa until you two have made your decision. I know it's not protocol...just give me a call later."

That said Tsukauchi scooped the kid 'Izumi' into his arms and quickly left the two pro-heros alone.

The click of the door shutting sounded like an explosion to Shōta, it jolted him again just enough to turn to Hizashi and work on bringing the man back to the real world.

Yanking hard on the hand still gripping his own he unbalanced Hizashi enough to get a stutter in his breathing.

"Zashi. He's gone, you gotta come back." Shōta demanded quietly.

Wrapping his free arm around Hizashis' chest Shōta started to tap out the rhythm of an English song that Hizashi had used to randomly belt out in highschool. Giving himself and Hizashi something to focus on would be the only way to keep them grounded, usually it was Hizashi bringing him back but it worked both ways.

Shōta was just starting the song over for the third time when Hizashi shifted against him and groaned.

"I'm so sorry Shō. I didn't know. I swear." We're the first words that spilled from Hizashi's mouth.

"Oh shut up you overgrown cockatoo." Shōta gently in his own way told his husband.

"You have a daughter that was hidden from you, I have a niece that was hidden from me. My sister is dead, Tsukauchi said nothing of Inko's husband." Saying it wasn't helping it sink in, but he needed to say it.

"She, Izumi, knows who we are in relation to her. She should be around four?" That question seems to jolt Hizashi a little, and a look between concentration and befuddlement is plastered across his face.

"Un, three going on four at the youngest." Is the very quiet reply to the question about Izumi's age.

Shōta pulled in a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before letting it out in a rush.

"Tsukauchi and Sansa are taking care of her, and Tsukauchi asked us to call him later." Shōta told Hizashi the last piece of information.

Feeling the nod against his chest, Shōta just kept tapping the song out.

"I'm sorry about your sister Shō." Hizashi whispered into the fabric of Shōta's sweater. "I know you weren't close, but, still."

Shōta shrugged, "Honestly, part of me forgot I even had a sister." He told Hizashi bluntly. "So her death isn't going to bother me too much." It was harsh, but Shōta was being honest.

"Okay, next thing." Hizashi pulled himself away a little but still kept close enough in Shōta's personal bubble that they could comfort each other.

"Izumi?" Hizashi asked, Shōta nodded when he realized that it was a question of her name. "Izumi was dropped off six days ago, she had a paternity test done to find her father. I am her father." Hizashi's breathing picked up again.

"Okay, just stop, let's look at this differently." Shōta spoke quickly. "My sister is dead, she had a daughter, her custody was given to us in the will. I know we have only been married a year…" Shōta paused to take in a deep breath and release it again. "Do you want to take in the kid?"

Hizashi stayed quiet for what felt like forever. "Can we talk to her first?" Was the tentative question.

Shōta let out another sigh, this one partly relieved and nodded.

#dadzawa #dadmic #bnha #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #naomasa tsukauchi #blue tongue #chapter1

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atc74 · 4 years ago

Text

It’s Been Awhile

Warnings: Angst, breakup, unresolved conflict, slight fluff,

Summary: The reader leaves to follow her dreams, but it leaves them both with regrets.

Pairing: Rockstar!Jensen x Reader AU

Word Count: 1931

Written for: @waywardbeanie

Beta’d by: @flamencodiva, thank you!

A/N: I know it’s been a hot minute since I wrote anything, so I opened requests to a few select people and found some inspiration.Inspired by the prompt in bold, and the song “It’s Been Awhile” by Staind. I hope y’all enjoy it. Feedback is the fuel that keeps me running!

For the full fan expericene, check out Jensen’s scent? Buy it here from @scentsfromthebunker!

Y/N and Jensen had been best friends growing up in the suburbs of Dallas. She wanted to be an architect and he wanted to go into sports medicine. They spent all their free time together, and sang in the church choir on Sundays. Thick as thieves, people would say about the two of them whenever they were together. Jensen was her first friend, her first boyfriend, her first...everything.

They started college together at the University of Texas, and with the exception of their location, nothing changed. They remained in their own bubble which Jensen nerdly referred to as the Fortress of Solitude. The one place he could be himself, let his guard down, and figure out who he really was. He could do all that with Y/N, or because of her, he wasn’t entirely sure if there was even a difference anymore.

Their friendship, along with their love, was carefree, and wild. The day road trips turned into weekend escapes where they lost themselves in each other the open plains of their home state. Jensen would bring his guitar everywhere and each day provided new opportunities to be inspired by the landscape and her. When Jensen was with Y/N, he wanted for nothing. From road trips, to study sessions, to candle light frozen dinners. She was all he ever needed.

Just like time, life could stand still, then change in the blink of an eye. Y/N was offered a coveted two year internship. They stayed together, but long distance was hard, long distance relationships were harder. It wasn’t long before daily calls became weekly texts, until they dwindled off completely. Jensen convinced himself if she had wanted him, truly wanted him, she would have stayed to build a life with him.

Jensen spent most of his time in bars, masking his pain with booze and open mike nights at the college bars. He built walls around him in her absence, and only let himself think about her when he sang the songs she inspired. Despite the haze of alcohol in his system, he never felt more at peace or sober than when he sang of her.

After she left to pursue her dreams, he never expected to amount to much with Y/N to push him to pursue his own. A writing and recording contract was the last thing he thought he wanted, but maybe, just maybe he thought, this was his chance to get her out of his system by changing direction and abandoning all their plans. She did it when she left him, why couldn’t he?

A string of failed relationships plagued them both as they tried to move on, never finding a suitable match. Flawless memories of a first love set unreachable standards and no one, no matter their intentions, would never measure up. Booze, one night stands, and other methods of self sabotage, were the cornerstones of the walls Y/N and Jensen had constructed.

With each report of Jensen’s success, her walls fortified, terrified to let anything, or anyone in. She stayed away from social media and shut down anyone who dared mention his name to her.

In every city, state, and country he visited, Jensen could sense her. Her essence surrounded him everywhere he went. The beauty of the landscape, the laughter, it all brought him back to her. It didn’t matter what, or who, he did to block out the memories, she was there.

His guitar nestled under the crook of his arm was where he truly felt at home, at peace, with her memories flooding his senses. All his transgressions, his mistakes, all that shit disappeared when he escaped into the music with her. He took pen to paper and confessed his regrets to the ghost of her memory.

Y/N found herself back in Dallas unexpectedly when her grandfather passed away. She hadn’t been home in so long, following her dreams and improving housing around the world. It didn’t escape her attention when the mother tossed the morning paper in front of her, Jensen staring back at her in black and white, from the front page of the entertainment section. She didn’t believe in destiny, she made her own future, but she couldn't help but think this was her grandfather sending her a glaringly obvious sign from beyond the grave. Jensen was performing an acoustic show at the local theater the following night.

“Grandpa left this for you, baby,” her mother placed an envelope on top of the paper, hiding Jensen’s profile from her view. She carefully opened the crisp white linen envelope seeing her Grandfather’s neat block printing.

Enclosed with the note was a ticket to Jensen’s show and a backstage pass. She knew better than to question, her grandfather always did work in mysterious ways, and he had never let her down. She wasn’t about to let him down now, despite her trepidation over seeing the love of her life again, she owed it to her grandfather to follow his dying wish.

Jensen had requested darkness for his final song. He sat alone on the stage, surrounded only by a dozen candles, silhouetting him against the dark curtain behind him. He couldn’t see the faces of the people who had paid to see him, but he wasn’t there for them. He was there for her, and her alone, even if she wasn’t in the building, he was always there in his heart.

It's been awhile

Since I couldn't

Hold my head up high

And it's been awhile

Since I first saw you

And it's been awhile

Since I could stand

On my own two feet again

And it's been awhile

Since I could call you

And everything I can't remember

As fucked up as it all may seem

The consequences that are rendered

I stretch myself beyond my means

Time is a funny thing when you think about it. Days past slowly, while the year flies and in the blink of an eye, a decade has gone by and all Y/N can think of is how did she let it go this far? How did she let him get this far from her.

As she silently watched Jensen perform, tears streaming down her face, she couldn’t help but think, this wasn’t the man she remembered; this man was broken. And she blamed herself. If she hadn’t left, if she hadn’t put her dreams in front of their own, would he still be broken? Would she? She was responsible for both of them, for their regrets were driven by her actions. Despite the time that had passed, he still knew how to each nerve with her, all the while blaming himself, just like she blamed herself.

And it's been awhile

Since I could say

That I wasn't addicted

It's been awhile

Since I could say

I loved myself as well

And it's been awhile

Since I've gone and

Fucked things up

Just like I always do

And it's been awhile

But all that shit

Seems to disappear

When I'm with you

Her heart jumped in her chest, lodging itself in her throat and making it hard to breathe. Could he be singing about her? The possibility that he could still love her after all this time brought fresh tears to her eyes. She knew how she felt for him, although she denied her emotions on a daily basis, but if there was a minute chance, she knew she had to go for it.

And everything I can remember

As fucked up as it all may seem

The consequences that I have rendered

Have gone and fucked things up again

Why must I feel this way?

Just make this go away

Just one more peaceful day

It's been awhile

Since I couldn't

Look at myself straight

And it's been awhile

Since I said, "I'm sorry"

And it's been awhile

Since I've seen the way

The candles light your face

And it's been awhile

But I can still remember

Just the way you taste

And everything I can remember

As fucked up

As it all may seem to be

I know it's me

I cannot blame this on my father

He did the best he could for me

It's been awhile

Since I could

Hold my head up high

And it's been awhile

Since I said, "I'm sorry"

“Thank you.” Jensen murmured two short words before exiting the stage. He pushed through the throngs of people waiting for him backstage, needing the quiet solace of his dressing room before the short meet and greet. He needed a few moments to pull himself together, to collect his thoughts.

He had never performed that song in front of anyone before tonight. Not a soul on earth had heard that song, not even his band. He was overwhelmed with the emotion it pulled from him, even if he had written it. He wanted nothing more than to be able to play that for her, to express everything he felt, but couldn’t tell her for the last ten years.

He entered the meet and greet room after he felt calm enough to leave his dressing room. He silently thanked his manager and the venue for keeping the affair small, only allowing ten people in that night, he knew he wouldn’t be able to withstand more.

Jensen thanked everyone for coming as he scanned the small room. His heart slammed into his chest wall as his eyes locked on a face he thought he’d never see again. She looked every bit as beautiful as she had the last time he had seen her. He had to hold the bottle of water with two hands to keep from reaching for her. He had never felt time pass like it did when he was with her, even surrounded by other people. When his manager signaled the end, he breathed a sigh of relief, laced with regret. What if she left and he never saw her again? What if she stayed and wanted to speak to him? Sifting the emotions from the logic, he exchanged a few words with his manager before fleeing the room to his own space.

A soft knock at the door brought him back to the present and he calmly answered with his back to the door. “Come in.”

He caught her eyes in the mirror of his dressing room, tear tracks fresh on her flawless skin. He spun around before she could vanish. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“I didn’t really have a choice.”

“There’s always a choice.”

“Not this time.”

“I never thought I would see you again, Y/N. What are you doing here?”

“Following my compass.”

“I won’t pretend to know what that means, but I’m going to assume it has something to do with your grandfather. I’m sorry for your loss, he was an incredible man,” Jensen offered.

“Yes, it does, and yes he was. He always liked you and told me I was an imbecile for leaving you the way I did, for not fighting for you, for us,” Y/N admitted. “That song…?”

“Are you asking if it has meaning? If it’s about you?”

Y/N took a tentative step forward, lessing the gap between them, the atmosphere in the room shifting. “Yes.”

“Yes. All of them are. You were always my inspiration, my muse,” Jensen confessed, inching closer to her.

“I’m sorry, Jensen,” Y/N sniffed.

“For what?”

“For leaving. For losing my compass.”

“You’re here now.”

Did you like it? The nicest thing you can do for a writer is reblog their work and tell them, and others, how much you like it!

The Whole Enchilada: @iwantthedean @dolphincliffs @mrswhozeewhatsis @flamencodiva @blacktithe7 @amanda-teaches @hannahindie @kickingitwithkirk @wi-deangirl77 @hobby27 @gh0stgurl @alleiradayne @idreamofplaid @manawhaat @crashdevlin @emoryhemsworth @fangirlxwritesx67 @winchesterprincessbride @waywardbeanie @jensengirl83 @anathewierdo @winchest09

The Dean’s List/Jensen’s Jamboree: @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @dean-winchesters-bacon @adoptdontshoppets @supernatural-jackles @fandom-princess-forevermore @akshi8278 @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @deanwanddamons @rockhoochie

#Jensen Ackles #Jensen Ackles x Reader #Rockstar!Jensen #Rockstar!Jensen x Reader #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic

173 notes · View notes

steepgan · 4 years ago

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t. oikawa - the balcony

in which you befriend your neighbor during quarantine. gn reader.

To put it briefly, your neighbor across from you will not be quiet.

Everyone is cooped up in their respective apartments due to a pandemic, and this guy decides to have a party every goddamn day. You can hear his music when you’re in the shower, and sometimes you don’t want to listen to Firework by Katy Perry. Sometimes you want to listen to One Direction.

Your apartment is situated oddly. The neighbor you speak of is not across the hall from you (if he was, you might have already filed a complaint). Instead, your apartment is given a balcony that directly faces the neighbor in question’s balcony.

Below the balconies is a small street that has passerbyers and chatting people that are looking for a shortcut. You get the occasional street cat that yowls in the trash cans at night and fights with raccoons. They are far more pleasant company than your neighbor.

In other words, the loud neighbor lives in a different apartment complex from you.

Every day is a new horror. Once, there was nonstop playing of Lorde’s Melodrama album (to which you were so concerned to the point of finding your neighbor a therapist), and the next day, there were strange trumpet noises (where did this guy find a trumpet during Covid?)

After the third week of the neighbor’s incessant noise, you take it upon yourself to ask your neighbors if they, too, are perturbed by the loudness. To this day, they do not mind the noise.

You’ll get used to it, they say. We’re neighbors. Sometimes we make noises, too, [L/N].

The noises are seemingly getting louder and louder. You swear you hear a chainsaw at some point. Not even your poor headphones can cancel out the sound. You wonder how your neighbors are faring with this sort of noise.

You hope that they are annoyed as you are this time. If they are, you can laugh at their face and ask who is getting used to the noise now. However, you suck up all your annoyance and pretend that you don’t mind the noise.

Then one day, you snap.

You open your balcony doors and march to the railing that is only a few feet away from your noisy neighbor’s balcony. You clear your throat and try to yell.

“Dude!” you shout. “Hello? Mind turning it down a bit?”

There is no response.

“Hey, man!” you persist. “Turn it down! No one wants to listen to the Backstreet Boys at 6 A.M. in the morning!”

The neighbor who lives beside you opens his balcony door. He sleepily pokes his head through and says, “I, actually, find it quite ni—”

“Go back to bed, Jorge,” you snap. “No one cares.”

Jorge retreats back into his apartment.

Grumbling, you go into your apartment as well. If shouting will not catch the neighbor’s attention, you need to find something tangible. You need something that will physically grab your neighbor’s stupid attention away from the Backstreet Boys.

You pick up the nearest object that you could find and return to your balcony. Without further ado, you throw it over. You aim at your neighbor’s balcony window, hoping to alert the neighbor without completely shattering his apartment and getting sued.

As luck would have it, the infamous neighbor himself opens the balcony door just then. He is rubbing the back of his neck with his lazy brown locks of hair falling here and there, perfectly framing his face.

Unfortunately, you do not manage to get a good look at his actual feature, as the object you chose to throw at him hits him smack in the face. He is taken aback by the sudden force and staggers before falling backward.

You wince.

He groans.

You let out a meek voice. “Holy shit, I’m so sorry.”

The man stands back up, and you flinch as if he rises from the dead. He holds the object in hand and stares at you. He seems a little groggy (rightfully so) as he asks, “did you just throw a purse at me?”

He speaks the truth. You chose to throw a purse at him.

Your neighbor looks more put together than you thought. He maintains a broad, athletic frame and stands at a decent height enough to impress. He leans against his balcony door, and the rising sun peeks over the apartment buildings, shining generously on his face.

The rays illuminated his cheekbones and rich, brown eyes. He tilts his head, his skin pulled smooth over his jaw down to his collarbone. He looks otherworldly. Ethereal, even. It must be golden hour, you quickly convince yourself. It’s just the golden hour.

“It was empty,” you say, not helping your case. You scramble closer to the railing. “Sorry! Super sorry. I just needed to get your attention.”

“You most certainly got it,” the neighbor says, amused. You hope he is not too annoyed. Most of your pent-up annoyance is melted away because you threw a bag at him. “Do you want this back or—”

“Of course I want it back,” you say. “I was just wondering if you could turn down the music a bit. You play it all the time, and it’s disturbing me.”

The neighbor gives you a blank stare. It’s as if he’s never been asked this before. He sheepishly admits, “I’ve never been asked this before.”

Bingo.

“Oh, well, do you mind being a little considerate?” you ask. “And give my bag back?”

“Sorry,” the neighbor says. “I’ll be sure to turn the volume down.”

He does not intend to throw the bag over the balcony as you foolishly did. Instead, he reaches out with the bag in his hand. Your bag dangles over the street, precariously close to falling down.

You stretch over the railing. Your fingers briefly brush your neighbor’s. Warmth crawls up your cheeks, but you blame it on the fact that you’ve kept human contact to a minimum ever since quarantine started.

He gives you the bag, and you hold it in your arms. You are tempted to crack a joke about Covid and ask if he washes his hands regularly, but your neighbor seems like the type of man who knows how to take care of himself properly.

“Say, do you have a party or something every day?” you ask. “You play it so loud, so I’m just wondering if you hold small kickbacks.”

“Every day?” the man goes. He shakes his head and laughs while crossing his arms. “Nah. I try to follow Covid procedures as well as I can. Oh, but, umm, I do have the occasional party to myself.”

“You throw parties by yourself?”

“Why do you look and sound so disappointed?”

True to his word, the neighbor keeps his music down for you to concentrate. You are extremely grateful, as you can now listen to your own television and study for your online classes.

Although you hear the faint drumming beat of music sometimes, you decide that it was far worse last time he blasted his music all over the place so you let it slide. There are a few neighbors who pass you in the hall and thank you as well.

Unable to rest one night, you walk out onto your balcony for some fresh air. After this, you will finally go to bed at 4 A.M. in the morning. In the dim light of the lanterns, you can see a silhouette of a person on your neighbor’s balcony.

Oh, if it isn’t your good neighbor!

(Well, who else would be on your neighbor’s balcony?)

He is on his phone while leaning on the railing. The bright screen reflects on his face, showing his concentration. His athletic build is slightly hunched over his phone as he hums leisurely, scrolling innocently.

“So,” you say, “do you usually stay up until 4 A.M.?”

The man, slightly startled, looks up from his phone and sees you. He cracks a grin that’s more brilliant than the fact that his house plants are still alive despite you never seeing him water them.

“Well, hello, there,” the neighbor says. “I actually get up at 4 A.M.”

You still. “You what.”

“I get up at 4 A.M.”

“No, I don’t think I heard you right. Mind repeating it again?”

“I get up at 4 A.M.,” the man repeats, and although he has said it three times already, your mind cannot process it. While you’re going to bed at 4 A.M., this guy was waking up at 4 A.M. How insane! “I’m an athlete, so I wake up and use an elliptical. Feeling sluggish isn’t good for me.”

It was then you catch his name: Toru Oikawa of Club Athletico San Juan. You can’t bother to be gobsmacked as you do not catch up with sports news, but you keep in touch with old friends who are still involved in sports. You believe that they’ve mentioned the San Juan club a few times.

“Jesus Christ,” you say.

“No, not Jesus,” Oikawa pipes up, “although I’ve been told about the similarities.”

“I’m [F/N] [L/N],” you offer. “It’s very nice to meet you, Toru Oikawa.”

“Likewise,” he says, “unless you're throwing a purse at me.”

“Again, I’m super sorry—”

You and he talk for some time about anything that comes to mind. You ask him to show you a few of his volleyball videos, as you want to see how he plays. You assume that because of social distancing, he’s been unable to practice.

He obtains your phone number and sends you a few videos with a snarky little comment at the bottom, which you choose to ignore. You watch his videos, and you realize that this Oikawa guy is actually really good.

It seems your friendship with him is on feebly, baby-doe legs. There are days where you do not talk to him at all, as you are more of a night owl and Oikawa is the physical embodiment of carpe diem. There are some days where you and he do not let a single hour slip by without texting each other (you must admit that Oikawa is very entertaining).

Your neighbors tease you, constantly reminding you of your previous hatred for Oikawa (back when you did not know what his name was). You tell them that it was perfectly sensible to be mad, especially since he had been so loud, but they wave you off with a smirk of their faces you’d gladly wipe off. You can tell that they think you like Toru Oikawa.

You tell them that the day Oikawa calls you enchanting and thinks of you as a goddess is the day you might consider him as something more than a neighbor friend.

A month and a half flies by, and you are dawdling on your balcony with Oikawa. He is sitting with his legs swinging back and forth through the rails of the railing. His volleyball hands grip the top of the railing as he chats with you aimlessly, the same smile that he typically wears is upon his face.

“You must have a lot of experience,” you note, watching Oikawa’s videos on your phone. “It’s super impressive.”

Oikawa laughs. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” you say incredulously. “I was watching one of your old high school videos, and I compared it to one of your more recent ones. Your growth is to die for. I super admire your skills, Toru.”

“My skills?”

I wish I could say more, you think. You believe your words are not enough to describe how you feel. Nothing is able to amount to the pride you feel towards your newfound friend, and it aches to keep your words to yourself. You can tell that he has suffered, and you can tell that he is suffering even now. You smile thinking about how far he has come, how far he has gone to be standing across from you with such a moonlit smile on his face.

You know how he fights, and you are so proud.

Of course, there is no non-cheesy way to say this, so you hope that Oikawa can read your eyes well enough. You hope that Oikawa knows that you are being more genuine now than ever, and you hope that he does not mistake your authenticity for pity.

“I think you are very great,” you say to him truthfully.

Oikawa’s voice is shaky. “Thank you.”

It feels as if years are going by with you locked in your apartment. Oikawa becomes an integral part in your life and in your everyday habits. You text him nearly every day and find yourself rising early in the morning just to talk to him for a few minutes before collapsing back on your bed.

Your neighbors suggest that you and he have a forbidden lovers thing going on. You ask them where they got that from. They bring up the fact that you and he are from different apartment complexes that just-so-happen to be facing each other.

If your neighbors want their own drama, they might as well try throwing a purse at their neighbor’s window and hope the neighbors are as amicable and handsome as Toru Oikawa. You struck gold with him.

He is easy to get along with. He tells you a lot of stories in the middle of the night and whenever he can. Every experience he tells you about seems to be linked with another experience, which is linked to another and then another. The conversations are flowing out of him, and sometimes, the most you can do is keep giving him positive affirmations so he will keep talking to you.

You like it when he talks to you.

“No phone, Toru?” you note, seeing his empty hands. Oikawa usually has his phone when he talks to you on the balcony. It is strange to see him without it, but Oikawa is a strange guy, you figure. He’s a total dork.

Oikawa is in love with a sport.

You have many athlete friends. Ordinarily, they complain about waking up early and never getting enough sleep—especially when balancing it with schoolwork. They enjoy their sport to a degree, but it pales in comparison to what Oikawa feels toward volleyball.

To Oikawa, and to people like Oikawa, volleyball is a practice. They turn volleyball into a habit. It becomes a habit that they care for the sport, and most importantly, it becomes a habit that they, in turn, take care of themselves.

“Too much blue light,” Oikawa says, shaking his head. “I’m cutting down my phone time. It’ll be better for my eyes, too. You ought to do the same.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you joke. “I have to look at screens all day, even if my eyesight deteriorates in the long run.”

“What will you do if you end up blind?” Oikawa leans on the railing. It’s as if he is trying to get close to you. However, the distance between the balconies is six feet apart. Whether you and Oikawa like it or not, you and he are following safety procedures. “You won’t be able to look for aliens with me.”

You laugh. “I don’t believe in aliens.”

“Well, they don’t believe in you, either.”

You make a sad face.

Oikawa is taken aback. He starts speaking quickly. “They don’t have to believe in you. It’s their loss. I’ll believe in you instead. You don’t need the approval of aliens, and you don’t need their opinions. They’re not even on Earth! The Earth is grand enough with you on it, [F/N]. As long as one person—me, or yourself, even!—believes in you, you’ll achieve greater things than aliens.”

It is then you smile. Oikawa is so silly, you think to yourself. You doubt there is anything else in the world that can replicate the neighbor across from you. He is truly one of a kind. “Thanks, Toru. You’re such a loser.”

“Hey,” he says, “love me or hate me. Don’t do both. Make it make sense.”

With Oikawa cutting back his screen time, you do not receive as many volleyball videos or texts from him. You miss his texts, of course, but this only spurs you to catch him in the mornings or in the late evenings when he gets back from practice. Your whole sleep schedule now revolves around the man. He is your friend, after all.

You slightly envy the man, as he seems dead set on becoming better than the person he was yesterday. However, you and he carry different morals. You do not mind not knowing what to do at all; you live from one day to the next, happily taking whatever life gives you. You are content not knowing what the future holds because you know that it is scary, but nothing is fun without being scary.

You do not need to follow Oikawa’s beliefs. Everyone raises themselves differently than the next person, and that does not make them any less productive. As each experience goes by, people take a different lesson from it, learning and learning and learning. That is human thought.

Of course, you learn a thing or two from Oikawa. You learn that there is always someone better, and that should only move you forward. You come to realize that if life does not lead you along, life will drag you, and you are far too pretty to be dragged.

With this in mind, you finish your project in time.

More weeks fly by, and Oikawa greets you as you walk out on your balcony. He is dressed in his practice clothes, and you are dressed in pajamas. You wrap your coat around yourself tighter, as the colder seasons are approaching and you aren’t so keen on freezing to death.

Oikawa’s brown hair feathers the tips of his reddened ears and touches the nape of his neck. He gives you a small wave, and you groggily wave back in response. It is far too early to meet Oikawa, but it seems you and he have an unspoken meeting time at 4 A.M. You have set many alarms for this man, and you hope he appreciates your efforts.

He holds something in his hands. You ask him what it is for, and he calls it a phone. It is not a phone. It is two cups, and they are held together by string. Oikawa tells you that one of the cups belongs to him and the other you. He stretches over the balcony, and you do so as well.

Your fingers barely whisper over his as you grab the cup from him. Oikawa quickly pulls away, nearly making you drop the cup. You swear you felt as if you were on the verge of a heart attack. You angrily curse out Oikawa for scaring you like that, and he only laughs in return.

That is the second time you’ve touched Toru Oikawa.

What a douche.

“Let’s test out the phone,” Oikawa says, putting his mouth to the cup.

You settle your ear to the cup, awaiting Oikawa’s message to you from your balcony. You wait, you wait, and you wait. Your ear is warm with anticipation, and just as you are about to tear your ear away from the cup to yell at Oikawa for joking with you, you hear something.

It is soft and quiet. If not for the stillness of the morning, you would not have been able to hear it. The voice is very faint, and the voice is very, very him.

“[F/N],” he says. He says your name like a prayer, like something he has kept lodged in his throat. He says it with apprehensiveness and doubt, as if he isn’t sure that it will reach you, as if he isn’t sure that it’ll work—but it does. But it does.

You smile, and you hold the cup to your mouth.

“Toru,” you say. You say his name again. “Toru.”

You flit your eyes up to see Oikawa, to see what he thinks of your personal message. In the dim light of the lanterns that hang on his apartment, you see that Oikawa is blushing. The red of his ears has spread across his cheeks.

He realizes that you are looking at him, and he turns his cheek to the side—a poor attempt of hiding. It is really impossible to keep his expressions from you, as it is only him and you outside. Even your neighbors recognize that there is an hour designated for you and Oikawa.

You put the cup down. Excited, you ask him, “did you hear me?”

“Yeah,” he says, regaining his composure. “Your breath stinks—”

You then throw the cup at his head. Oikawa falls back.

It is every day that you and he speak through the string-cup-phone-thing. You and he speak through it in the mornings when he wants to tell you a secret about his coworkers. Oikawa tells you that he has returned to work, as his team mates (including himself) have tested negative for Covid. You are entertained by his stories.

Oikawa has some of your habits, you realize. He must have picked them up from you during the duration of your friendship with him. When he eats candy, he saves his favorite color for last and eats his least favorite first. When he speaks, he crosses his arms—a habit that you have only because of your easy annoyance. He takes some of your jokes as well and repeats them to his coworkers (and you only know this because he tells you; at least he gives his credit to you).

He finds satisfaction in the littlest of things now. He will bring up how pretty the lights in the street below are, and when you are slightly pissed at anything, he will tell you how those aforementioned lights are nothing compared to you. He likes the smell of the bakery down the street, and he promises that he’ll take you there one day because it’s his favorite.

When he tells you a joke, he looks at your face to see if you are laughing. You think he likes your laugh. Or maybe he likes your time and appreciation. Whatever it is, Oikawa does not grow tired of seeing you laugh.

Toru Oikawa is as strange as you, you believe, and strange people stick together.

“Today,” Oikawa says through the string-cup-phone-thing, “I saw a skunk, and I thought of you.”

You blink. “I hate you.”

“Skunks are cute!” he insists through the cup. “I’m talking about its eyes. It had beautiful eyes. Take it as a compliment! The skunk’s beautiful eyes were so astounding that they seemed to—”

“Don’t try to redeem yourself.”

There are some days where Oikawa is too tired to talk to you, and although you are hurt by it, you realize that he needs time to himself. He sits on his bed, visible through the balcony window doors and buries his face in his hands. He looks defeated. All you can do is watch and pretend you do not see.

The thing about character is that one has to keep building it.

Oikawa constantly compares himself to others. At first it is not visible, but it becomes painstakingly obvious to those who are close to him. Oikawa brings up other volleyball players all the time, and he says that he wishes that he can serve like him or receive like her. You tell him that he can, and he laughs.

His envy is tiny, and you can see it in the way he praises this person’s sets and in that person’s passes. All you say in response is that they have to grow to get there, and that he, too, can grow.

So you wait by the string-cup-phone-thing. The cup hangs from you railing and dangles near your ear. It is too late in the day, but you force your eyes awake every time you feel yourself drifting off to sleep.

You will be here for Toru Oikawa. You will be here for him.

Oikawa steps outside today, and he sees you by the string-cup-phone-thing. You are curled up in a ball, dozing off near your respective cup. There is a lopsided grin on his face that appears whenever he sees you. He feels dizzy.

He sits down on the balcony, reaching for his cup that dangles from his railing. He starts talking. He tells you about his day, and he tells you about what he’s worried about. Although you are barely awake to hear it, Oikawa is glad that you are here anyway. You have this unspoken determination about you that makes Oikawa feel jumpy.

The months pass by, and you realize that you have a strong connection with Oikawa. Although having never spoken before quarantine and having never seen him closer than six feet away, you feel closer to him than ever. You do not need to be holding him; you do not need to be near him.

All you have to do is be there.

There are nights where it is you and him and silence. You and he seem to forget that the other is there with them, but if one were to leave, then you and he would feel as if something was wrong. The Earth will not be the same without the other, and you come to the profound realization that the universe is built upon one thing missing the other.

You are humming, and Oikawa is rolling around his volleyball. There is nothing but the sound of the concrete underneath the leather ball and your broken humming. You hum quietly, and it is breathy and choppy.

Then you hear something from your string-cup-phone-thing. You quickly snatch the cup and motion for Oikawa to repeat what he said.

It is quiet and apprehensive. “Do you want to spend Christmas with me?”

You drop the cup. It dangles. You stare at Oikawa, whose ball was rolling away toward the panel of the balcony window door. He is sheepishly carrying his cup and looking at you, expecting an answer.

“Just reject me already,” Oikawa says. So his invitation has more connotations that you realize. Your heart is like that of a jackrabbit. “Then you’ll never hear me bring this up again, if you don’t want me to.”

He stands there, his hair looking like shiny lucky pennies on sidewalks. His smile is as genuine as ever, and it tells you that even if you tell him no, he will still be there with you because that is what friends do.

If Toru Oikawa were to look in a mirror, he will see a hero.

He is glowing, you think. You don’t know if anyone else can see it. You want everyone to look at Oikawa and see how beautiful he is glowing. He is like the moon. The noisy neighbor whom you once hated is now the person who is most cherished across from you. You believe you can find no one close to Oikawa.

You don’t think you can ever stop appreciating the pillar that is Toru Oikawa, and you don’t think you ever want to. You have a thousand things you want to say, and you do not know which one to say right now. You do not think that this is the right time, either.

Maybe you will say these things later, if you have time.

During the most unfortunate of times, human beings are desperate. Thus, you can say with your utmost confidence that you are here for Oikawa, and that is all.

You grab the cup and scramble to your feet. It is then you lean over your railing and hold the cup to your mouth. You are happy. You are indescribably, ardently, and passionately happy. There is an answer that rips from your throat when you open your mouth. You say something along the lines of hoping that it better be the best Christmas you will ever have.

Oikawa laughs, and he says, “you’re a delight, [Y/N]. I think you’re like a goddess.”

“Delight is a lousy way to describe me,” you say. “Call me mesmerizing, jaw-dropping, and radiant.”

“How about enchanting?”

You think about it. “I think enchanting will do just fine.”

“Right then,” Oikawa says, “[F/N], you are absolutely enchanting.”

#oikawa toru #oikawa x reader #oikawa scenario #oikawa x you #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #oikawa one shot #haikyuu one shot #oikawa #oikawa imagine #haikyuu fluff #i went like philosophical midway BYE #i wrote this for a little collab on quotev dot hell #haikyuu!!#no beta we die like men

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katachell · 4 years ago

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portal 2 project???

portal 2 has an AMAZING narrative. AMAZING. but if you want to rewatch the story... you cant. your two options are to watch let’s plays and randomly skip around to hopefully hear all the dialogue, or to read the quotes on the wiki... which are seperated by character, not scene, and dont give environmental details. this makes it impossible for people who dont want to put in a massive amount of time in to experience the story of the game in one definitive place. so, i propose:

THE PORTAL 2 PROJECT

the end product of this project would be a video, posted to YouTube, that has all of the relevant scenes and dialogue in order. it would play out like a movie, so people who haven't or don't want to play the game can still enjoy and understand the story in its entirety. it would use screen recordings of the game, so you can see whats happening and hear it.

what would be included in the video:

-any moment where there is dialogue (exceptions listed below)

-plot relevant details: for some examples, getting the portal gun, finding a rattman den, introducing a new puzzle element, when cave says that portals can be placed on the moon. (this is to better help people who aren't familiar with the franchise understand what the things they're seeing on the screen are.) (most of these would be short clips: for example, when hard light bridges are introduced, the clip would show chell walking up to it and standing on it, and then the video would move on.)

-major scenes, obviously. an example is when chell falls into the pit or unlocks old aperture.

-small, funny details. (without lingering for too long.) it wouldn’t be portal 2 if you dont show the little details! examples include the borealis dock, the elevator room screens, or when wheatly is monologuing and you can go back and he’ll keep monologuing (”you’re at my mercy! wait- come back! (chell goes back) FOOL! you’re at my mercy, and i dont have any!”

-exploring the enviroment: for example, the screen recorder would stop to look at the awards in old aperture, zoom in on chell’s name for the potato experiment, listen to the optional/hidden cave experiment dialogue, as well as look at old posters and signs that tell you about the dangers of old ap. just so the audience is grounded.

-ive touched on this in other bullet points, but not everyone has the time or willpower to look for the little hidden things in the game. this would make sure that you get a very full, portal 2 experience.

what would NOT be included:

-puzzle solving. some chambers take a few minutes to solve, and there is no dialogue. this interrupts the story. unless the puzzle solving is relevant to the plot, like quickly introducing new mechanics to the audience, it wont be included.

-unimportant dialogue. for example, in the neurotoxin generator area, whealtly will ramble for - i think i lasted 4 or 5 minutes before i left - a while, just trying to convince the neurotoxin generator to shut itself off or something. while entertaining, it takes away from the focus of the project.

an example of the formatting:

i imagine the format to look something like this: (im using chapter 1 as an example)

-full, uncut opening with the wheately escape. the cameraman waits at the door before opening it so you get his full dialogue. ~5 minutes

-chell goes into her old relaxation vault, listens to the announcer, puts a button on the pressure pad, then enters the elevator. this introduces the button/cube mechanic. (this scene comes directly after the last, with no cuts). since there is announcer dialogue and new mechanics, this stays relatively uncut. ~1 minute

-chell exits elevator, hears funny announcer dialogue. the camera looks at the room for 5 seconds so the audience understands the setting for the scene, as well as the act. ~15-20 seconds

-chell presses a button to open a portal. this is the first time a portal is seen. she walks through the portal. this introduces the core mechanic of the game. (~30 seconds) (once the mechanic has been used once or twice, the rest of the puzzle is cut)

that would be the basic format. for things like multiple uneventful test chambers in a row, it would show slow fading shots of the test chamber number so you understand that time is passing. this would be intercut with shots of the setting.

HOW CAN I GET HELP / THIS PROJECT STARTED??

getting all of this footage is too much for one person. editing it... is too much for one person. ALL OF THE FOOTAGE HAS TO COME FROM PEOPLE WORKING ON THIS PROJECT. IT CANT COME FROM OTHER PEOPLES YOUTUBE VIDEOS. For this project, I’ll need people to record the footage, people to help edit the footage, and 1-3 people who know the story well and are willing to go over the game’s plot and determine what scenes and details we need, so the records know what to record and what to focus on.

Do you want to help capture footage? if so, youll need:

-access to the PC version of the game with LOW LAG gameplay

-a screen recorder program. it CANNOT have a watermark on the finished product. needs to be high resolution footage.

-(the recordings will NOT feature your voice or a face cam.)

-(you do not need mods and please leave the portal gun with its base texture)

-(id be comfortable with each screen recorder person to cover around 1-2 chapters... so maybe 4-5 people, unless i can find more. youd be following some directions on what to record. you do not need to edit, just get the footage.)

Can’t do that? Can you EDIT video footage? you’ll need:

-a video editor. high quality. i dont know the editing industry, i dont know what software exists.

-MUST be able to export it without a watermark and in high quality.

-(each editor will be responsible for a chapter or chapters. then render your final product. one editor will put all of the finished chapters together. this means you can use different software from the other editors, and will have a good amount of control over your assigned part. i dont have a number for how many editors there will be. id like more than one.)

Can’t do that? What about choosing the important scenes and details and acting as a sort of ‘writer’ for the plot? You’ll need:

-a good knowlege of the game and its history and fun facts. if youre obsessed with this game and franchise... yeah same. but as long as youre interested and know it well, thats fine

-be able to browse the wiki

-time to review the game by watching lets plays or playing it yourself

-be able to choose the right details and communicate that to the screen recorders and editors. remember my example about chapter one earlier? youd have to lay it out in a similarly comprehensive way.

-take constructive criticism

-must be older than 14 for this. youve gotta make a lot of decisions in this role. ive seen some really creative and talented high schoolers, so thats where im drawing the age line.

-(im hoping for 1-4 of these people, including myself.)

IF YOU’RE INTERESTED IN HELPING, SEND ME A DM. IF YOU’RE CHOSEN TO WORK ON THE PROJECT, I’LL SET UP A DISCORD FOR THOSE INVOLVED. IF THIS GETS SOME SORT OF MASS SUPPORT, I’LL SET UP A DISCORD FOR ANYONE INTERESTED IN UPDATES.

The purpose of this project is to make it so you can relive the portal 2 plot without having to replay the full game. Other methods do not exist. No one video shows the plot in order with ‘filler’ removed. Voice lines exist in text form, but do not capture the visual aspect of the game, or give context, and are not a full experience. This story is a masterpiece and deserves to be edited so it is comprehensive and all in one place. No one will claim credit for owning portal 2 or writing the story - the video is showing gameplay, and just so happens to be the relevant gameplay. However, screen capture, editing, and direction credits will be given to everyone who participates. This project will allow you to introduce friends and family to the game without sending them a video where only 5 minutes out of the 1 hour video is relevant. I have wanted this project for a while, but I’ve realized that I can’t do it alone. Even if you can’t help directly, please spread the word and reblog.

#portal #Portal 2 #wheatley #Chell #glados #cave johnson

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pentagonpimp69 · 4 years ago

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Can you ever forgive me? Tom Holland x Reader Part X

*A month later*

“If you don’t think it’s a boy, you’re crazy.” Tom said while shoveling cereal into his mouth.

It had been about a month since talking to Grace. We have texted here and there but I’ve mainly been focused on myself and the baby. My baby. Today I am officially 12 weeks pregnant. Also today, Tom and I are going to our first ultrasound and we will learn the gender of our baby. Even though I feel so nervous, I am super excited to see what we're having. Of course Tom seems convinced it has to be a boy and won’t hear anything else.

“I don’t know what it is Tom.” I answer back. Still cooking my eggs at the stove. I see him roll his eyes out of the corner of my eye.

“You haven’t thought about what gender the baby is?” Tom says with a mouth full of food.

“No, Tom, I haven’t.” I say frankly.

Tom shrugs his shoulders, “Well, Mom and Dad think it's a boy too.” He says.

“So do my parents.” I answer with a giggle.

Soon after meeting Grace, Tom and I decided that we had to tell both our parents about my pregnancy. Telling them was definitely interesting. My parents were shocked, but thrilled. They were so excited to finally become grandparents. We then decided to tell them about Grace. Well, I decided to tell them about Grace. They seemed upset at first but ultimately said they supported us. But I could swear my dad was glaring at Tom for the rest of the night.

Telling Tom’s parents was another story. They were happy don’t get me wrong, but they just looked emotionally exhausted. They were about to have 2 grandchildren from the same son by 2 different women. One that they know and loved and one by some girl that Tom had a one night stand with. It was a lot. But they are coming around to it.

But today was about none of that stuff. Today was about us and our baby.

“Are you gonna be ready to go once you're done?” Tom asks as I sit down to eat.

“Yeah. I should be. We still have another hour though.” I answer.

“I know, but there's nothing wrong with getting there early right?” He says. I just giggle at him. He has been so excited to go to this doctors appointment. It almost makes me feel bad in a way. When Grace has an appointment, he looks almost like he's going to a funeral. Gloomy and almost sad. But with me, he was ready to go when we first woke up. Granted, I am his long time girlfriend (kind of fiance now) that he's having a baby with, I still feel a bit bad.

“Let me finish eating and I’ll be ready.” I say looking up at him.

He walks over and gives me a kiss on the top of my head. “It’s 100% a boy.” He whispers in my ear.

“Oh my god!” I say as I push him away. He just giggles and walks into the kitchen.

“So Y/N, how are you feeling?” The doctor asks.

“Good! I haven’t had any morning sickness really, just lightheadedness occasionally and that about it.” I say with a smile. Tom sits next to me and grips my hand tightly. His leg shakes not in a nervous way but in anticipation of the ultrasound.

“That’s great! Just make sure you are drinking plenty of water and take thing easy. Especially if you are feeling lightheaded.” She says with a smile.

“For sure!” I answer.

The doctor picks up my file and looks at it. “So you are 12 weeks now right?” she asks.

“Yes! 12 weeks today!” I answer excitedly. Tom squeezes my hand again. I can see his smile without even looking at him.

“Well then, let's get right to it then. If you want to lay back on the table and lift your shirt up, we can get an ultrasound started!” She says.

I nod my head and stand up. I climb on to the fake leather table with what looks like parchment paper on. After I lay down and lift my shirt up, the doctor puts the cool gel on my stomach.

At this moment, I was hit with panic. What if there is no baby? I remember my mom telling me about her miscarriages in the past. What if this happens to me? I almost start crying when the doctor starts pressing the wand on my stomach. But soon enough, a small flutter starts to fill the room. The doctor turns a knob on the machine and it becomes my louder.

*thud *thud *thud

“That's the heartbeat there and if you look, there's your baby.” She says as she points to the screen.

“Wow.” I say. It's the only word I can think of. It looks like an actual baby in there. I mean I knew there was a baby in there, but just seeing it like that was crazy to me. My baby.

I look over at Tom and his eyes are fixed on the machine. I say a tear slip from his eye. He looks down at me and gives me his goofy smile. The one I love. The one that got me here.

“Would you guys like to know the gender?” The doctor asks.

“Yes!” I say.

She nods and starts moving knobs on the machine while also moving the wand on my stomach.

“Well from what I can tell, it looks like you're having a girl!” She says excitedly.

I looked up at Tom expecting to see a disappointed face, but instead, I saw a huge grin.

“A little girl?” He asks the doctor. She nods.

He looks down at me, “We're having a little girl!” He bends down and gives me a kiss.

We're having a little girl.

“So what do you think of the name Lily?” Tom asks as he walks in the living room.

“Lily?” I ask as a turn away slightly from my laptop to look at him.

“Yes, what do you think of that name?” He asks again.

“I used to have a dog named Lily.” I answer.

“Well, was she a good dog?” He asks, sitting on the couch next to me.

“No, she used to poop in the house all the time and ate all my dad's shoes. She also bit our blind neighbor once.” I answer, looking back at my laptop.

Tom just stares at me for a minute. “Okay, no to Lily.”

All of the sudden, Tom's phone starts going crazy. Texts are coming through every second.

“What’s happening?” I ask.

“I don’t know, they're all from my publicist. She's freaking out.” He says with a confused face. Finally they stop coming through so he can unlock his phone and read what they are saying. After reading the first one, his face turns white.

“I need to call her.” He says. He walks to the backyard and shuts the door.

I can seem him yelling and rubbing his face during the phone call. What is happening?

Then my phone goes off.

“What the hell is happening????” Is the text I got from Harrison.

“What are you talking about?” I answered him. Once I hit send, Tom walks back in. He won’t look at me. That isn’t good.

“What?” I ask.

“Grace sold a story to the Sun and said that I got both her and you pregnant. She sent them some texts from me as “proof” i guess. The Sun just published it online.” He says, staring at the ground the whole time.

“Are you serious?” I ask.

He nods. “And that's not the worst part.” He says.

“What's the worst part?” I ask. What can be worse than this?

Tom stays quiet.

“TOM!” I sob, “What's the worst part?”

“She’s told them that you threatened to hurt her and attempted to pay her off to go away.” He answers.

“What?” I say.

I cannot believe this. I felt so bad for this girl and then she went out and did this.

“Baby I know that didn’t happen. I’m so sorry.” Tom says as he walks over to the couch to hug me. I cry into his shoulder. What the hell is happening???

“How could she do this?” I choke out.

“I don’t know baby.” He says as he rubs my back, trying to calm me down. “But my publicist says that you need to stay in the house the next few days. Until all of this dies down.”

“Great. So I'm a prisoner in my own home for something I never did. What will I tell my work?” I say.

“Baby we’ll figure that out.” He says. I just nod. I shouldn’t even think about work with what I just found out. Tom and I embrace for a while longer before his phone starts ringing again. He looks down and sharply inhales.

“Who is it?” I ask, wiping away my tears.

“It's Grace.”

Hello! Hope you enjoy this part! Its kind of a whirlwind! Let me know what you think! Also, I've though about starting another series! Let me know what you guys think and who it should be with! Love you!

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland fic #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #imagine

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spectraspecs-writes · 3 years ago

Text

Leviathan - Chapter 106 (Rena)

Link to the masterpost. Chapter 105. Chapter 107.

A/N - Since there's been some confusion about it in the past, thought I'd make it clear here. Carth's narration is in orange text, if the orange doesn't show up please let me know but with tumblr's new post editor it should work. Bastila's narration is pink - my original idea was yellow but not only would that be illegible it's not an option. Same deal, if it doesn't show up let me know. Plus, I don't know if anyone watches the videos when I add them to chapters, but this one, you gotta watch this one.

@averruncusho @ceruleanrainblues @chubbsmomma @strangepostmiracle thank you for reading, you get a tag. @skelelexiunderlord thank you for support, you get a tag.

——–

When the elevator opens, I get… a horrible feeling. Like someone’s walking on my grave. And no one mourns me. Everything feels cold. Like that dream on Dantooine. I think Bastila shivers a bit but I don’t think Carth feels it. But how could I know, he’s blocked himself off from me. As we fight our way through to hangar control the feeling just gets worse and worse. Seeing the Hawk makes me feel a little better, but not for long.

I don’t want to be here. This is the only way to get to the hangar, but I don’t want to be here at all. I’m not ready. I don’t want to be here. I can’t calm down. It’s dark. And cold. I don’t want to be here.

The blast door opens. We didn’t move fast enough. It’s him. It’s Malak.

Carth starts to step forward with his blasters but I reach out my hand to stop him. My dream will not happen. I won’t let it. Malak laughs, and it sends a chill through me. And also a strong feeling of hatred. But it’s not a general hatred, like I would have if it was like “knowing the things you’ve done and what you stand for, I hate you.” This is a personal hatred. “I hope you weren't thinking of leaving so soon, Bastila,” Malak says. His voice is channeled through an apparatus on his chin. He has no jaw. “I've spent far too much energy hunting down you and your companions to let you get away from me now. Besides,” he says, looking at me, “I had to see for myself if it was true. Even now I can hardly believe my eyes… tell me, why did the Jedi spare you? Is it vengeance you seek at this reunion?”

I try not to be nervous, but I can’t help it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, “I’ve never met you, this isn’t a reunion.”

He laughs again. Over and over again. What in the goddamn hell is so funny? “What?” he laughs, “You mean you don't know? All this time, and you still haven't figured it out? I wonder how long you would have stayed blind to the truth? Surely some of what you once were must have surfaced by now.” “Once were”? I’m a scout, I’ve always been a scout. What the hell is going on? “Even the combined power of the Jedi Council couldn't keep your true identity buried forever, could it?”

youtube

… no. What? No. No that can’t be right. That’s not me. That can’t be me, I can’t be… Revan. No, I’m not. I wasn’t. That can’t be right. But it was my face! No. No that can’t be right. It’s not right. No. I look back at Carth. He can’t look at me. But this isn’t right! I’m not Revan! I can’t be. I remember being a scout!

Is that why all this felt so familiar? The Sith on the bridge - I knew them? Maybe? Is that why Jedi training went so fast? Muscle memory? I already learned how to use the Force and fight with a lightsaber. And why Master Zhar said I was a special case. Why the Star Map on Kashyyyk knew me. But…

… it isn’t right! No!

“You cannot hide from what you once were, Revan!” Malak says. Shut the hell up! “Recognize that you were once the Dark Lord - and know that I have taken your place!”

“No,” I say, “No, this isn’t right. Revan is dead.”

“You do not yet remember, Revan?” Stop calling me that! “The Jedi set a trap. They lured us into battle against a small Republic fleet. During the attack a team of Jedi knights boarded your ship. The Jedi strike team captured you and the Council used the Force to reprogram your mind; they wiped away your identity and turned you against your own followers!”

No. No it’s not true. It can’t be true. No. No. “No. No, it’s not true.”

“You must have seen flashes of your old life in your dreams, Revan; memories bubbling up to the surface? Surely you must remember the battle in which you were captured?” On Taris… but she said it was just a dream. A memory. Her memory. My memory… “How you survived the final battle is a mystery to me,” Malak says, “Perhaps you should ask Bastila; after all, she was part of the Jedi strike team that captured you!”

Yes. She was. She was there. I look at her. I hate her. “Bastila?”

“It’s true,” she says. I hate her. “I was part of the team sent to capture Revan… to capture you.” I hate her! “When Malak fired on the ship you were badly injured. We thought you were dead.” They should have left me. But if they left me, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t know Carth, or Jolee, or Canderous, or Mission, or T3, or anybody. But is that worth leaving a mass murderer alive? Is the fact that I’ve lived a better life away from the Dark Side worth all the lives Revan took? Am I worth it? “Your mind was destroyed, but I used the Force to preserve the flicker of life in your body. I brought you to the Jedi Council. They were the ones who healed your damaged mind.”

No. No. “But I have memories. I don’t remember Revan, but I remember a whole life. Planets I explored, species I discovered, stories to tell. I’m a scout!”

“The Jedi Council didn't restore your wounded mind, Revan!” Malak says, “They merely programmed it with a new identity - one loyal to the Republic! They tried to make you their slave!”

So… Bastila… I thought she was my friend! Or at least someone I could count on, someone I could trust! “You’ve been lying to me this whole time!”

“I wanted to tell you but the Council forbid it!”

“So once again you put an idea before a person!” I shout at her. I can’t help it - I hate her! “How could you justify that? How could you? How in your twisted mind could an idea be more important than a living breathing person?”

“They were afraid you might return to the dark side if you discovered your real identity!” she says, “You could have hurt more living breathing people!”

“But now you know the truth, Revan!”

I turn to Malak, and scream at him, “Shut the FUCK up! I’m not talking to you!”

He laughs. What part of “shut the fuck up” did he not understand? “And there is the Revan I remember! No longer holding back your rage!”

“What part of ‘shut up’ did you not understand?” I say. Even without a jaw, I can see his smug grin, but he leans back and crosses his arms. I turn my attention back to Bastila. “Why didn’t you just let me die?”

“For the same reason you are always concerned for the lives of others,” Bastila says, “The Jedi hold all life sacred, even that of a Sith Lord. I could not just let you die. Not if it was possible to save you.”

Malak laughs again. “Hiding the truth behind noble words,” he says, “The Jedi needed the memories buried deep in your wounded mind, Revan; there was no other way to bring them out. They had to keep you alive!”

I’m not listening to him. “And the new identity - why?”

“We couldn’t simply restore your true identity…”

“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”

“Revan was too dangerous - we couldn’t.” Sounds like “wouldn’t” to me. “But locked inside your mind was information the Republic needed: the secrets of the Star Forge. The Council created an identity for you: a scout transferred under my command. Your subconscious memories were supposed to lead me to the Star Forge; there was no other way to get the information.”

“They made you their puppet, Revan,” Malak says, “and Bastila was the handler pulling your strings!”

“Why you? Why are you here? Why did they choose you? You were my friend - why would you do this to me?”

“I used my Force powers to keep you alive on that bridge - it created our bond,” she says. That goddamned bond! “I convinced the Council that I could use that bond to draw out your memories and lead us to the Star Forge.”

“Tell the truth, Bastila,” Malak says, “you wanted to taste the Dark Side for yourself! You knew the only way the Council would permit you to explore the Sith's power was through Revan's lost memories!”

“No!” she says, “I wanted to help you, Revan.”

I scoff. “But you wouldn't mind helping yourself along the way, I bet.” After all, she thought this was an audition for masterdom - she’s looked for power before.

“Revan, I thought this mission would redeem you; that it would atone for your past crimes. How else could you be saved?”

No. No. “You used me! You and the whole Council! I trusted you! And you used me and lied to me the whole time!”

“Rena, Malak nearly killed you, but the Jedi Council gave you another chance to live! They gave you a chance to redeem yourself by defeating the Sith!”

“A rash and futile hope,” Malak says, “The Dark Side is too strong, my power is too great! Even my old master is no longer a match for me!” He turns to me. What was before anxiety and fear is now firmly rage and anger. At Bastila, at the Council, at Malak, at me. “A small part of me has always regretted betraying you from afar,” Malak says, “I always knew there were some who would think I acted out of fear, that I did not want to face you. But now fate has given me a second chance to prove myself. Once I defeat you in combat no one will question my claim to the Sith throne; my triumph will be complete!” He reaches out a hand, and Bastila and Carth are both immobilized. “The Jedi Council were foolish to let you live. I won't make the same mistake. We shall finish this alone in the ancient Sith tradition: master versus apprentice, as it was meant to be!”

I am. Absolutely. Done. Today has gone on long enough. I have had it. “You wanna know something?” I say, “This is, categorically, the worst day of my life.”

---

Damn it, Rena! If she hadn’t stopped me before, maybe I could have shot Malak and we wouldn’t be in this situation! And now she’s fighting Malak alone. She doesn’t stand a chance against him.

But why should I care? She’s a Sith Lord! She’s been a Sith Lord the whole time! Oh, she can claim she doesn’t remember all she wants, but how can I know she’s telling the truth? How can I trust her? She deserves everything she gets!

But… it’s Rena. My friend. I saved her life on Taris, she’s saved my life more than once, she’s always been there for me. She found Dustil. Turned him away from the Sith. I love her. She feels right. And I promised to protect her. And then…

No. I promised to protect Rena. This is Revan. Revan, who led us during the Mandalorian Wars, rallied Jedi to our side. Revan, who won the war for the Republic. Revan, who betrayed us all.

I can’t forgive Revan. But I can’t forgive Malak, either. Malak gave the order to attack Telos. And I- I don’t know if Revan had anything to do with it, but Malak definitely did. He deserves to die. And the war has been a lot worse since Revan was killed. Wiped. Whatever. And if that has anything to do with the two of them, Malak is clearly the worse of the two. He deserves to die. And I want to take revenge on Revan myself. For lying to me. For using me.

Was any of it real? Was she ever on the side of the Republic, the whole time? Did she even love me like she said? Or was it all a lie? Hell, for all I know, she wanted us to be here. Maybe she sent a transmission to Saul when I wasn’t looking. Maybe she really did join the Sith on Korriban.

But I saw into her head. That first night on Korriban, whatever she did, I saw into her head. It was strange, the whole experience, but it was like I saw her whole life. She told me - well, sort of told me - that she could never fall if I was there. That she wouldn’t. She couldn’t hurt me. She couldn’t do that to me. And that’s how she told me she loved me. I don’t think she meant to. It just sort of came out. And it showed me that I loved her. Something I didn’t want to think about, I guess. Especially not then - I was so focused on Dustil. And Morgana. She died five years ago and I was never able to get her off my mind. Before Rena. And when she showed me inside her head… it all made sense.

But what if all that was a lie? How can I believe anything she’s ever - Rena, look out! In a fraction of a second, she dodges Malak’s lightsaber. And I feel her in my head, like I did before - “Thanks, I got it.” It doesn’t feel like her, not like it felt before, on Korriban. On Korriban, it felt… I don’t know how to describe it. It was like… coming home after a long time. It was a warm full feeling. A good feeling. But this, now, feels completely different. She feels almost… cold. Dark. Rushed.

Maybe that’s just because she’s fighting, she’s focused. But I saw how she yelled at Bastila. And Malak. She’s not the same at all, is she? She’s not the same Rena. And she never will be again, will she? The woman I… the woman I thought I knew - she’s gone. It’s just Revan now.

---

This was not the way I hoped she would find out. I wanted her to find out in a safe place, surrounded by friends, no more battles to be fought. Perhaps after we’d found the last Star Map or before we went to the Star Forge. Of course I knew she would have to find out eventually. I knew that a fight with Malak was inevitable, and that he would reveal her true identity. I just did not want that to be the first time she heard it. I wanted her to hear it from me. I wanted to be able to answer all of her questions in a calm, safe environment, a place where she could express all of her feelings safely, and understand why the Council did this.

Being captured by the Leviathan was the last thing I expected. Everything was going relatively smoothly. I was concerned about Korriban, but Jolee told me she acted exemplary, a fine model of Jedi teachings. As much as usual, anyway. As I’ve told her before, her methods are unorthodox, and she has a tendency to act emotionally, but she is dedicated to the wellbeing of others. I’ve regularly seen her put the lives of others before her own, as have the others. I never knew Revan personally - when she and Malak left for the Mandalorian Wars, I sided with the Council - but from what I’ve gathered, “selfless” was not a word others would use to describe her. Revan and Rena have many things in common, but I don’t believe they are the same at heart. Rena certainly has her faults and her shortcomings as a Jedi, but I could never see her falling to the Dark Side.

I’m ashamed to admit I wasn’t always so certain. Her feelings for Carth were concerning at first. As I said, I never knew Revan, but she had a reputation for hedonism, and Rena seemed quite the same at first. And not only that - her dueling on Taris concerned me, as well. She seemed very aggressive. But I came to learn I was mistaken in that assessment. She used dueling more to blow off steam than as an outlet for aggression.

Her identity was a mystery to me at first. I knew that the Council put her under my command, but beyond that they seem to have taken quite a few liberties in explaining her knowledge. She has a number of specifics when it comes to being a scout or ecology. And I don’t know where her crusade against Czerka came from. Perhaps these details came from Revan’s memory, and the Council just changed the explanation. Perhaps the identity was someone else, someone who died in the war, or someone from the archive memory. I had only met her briefly before the attack on the Endar Spire, and I doubt it was an encounter she’d remember. She was up late, fixing a droid. If I hadn’t known her voice I wouldn’t have recognized her. Most of what I knew about her came from a datapad, at first.

It took a long time before I stopped calling her Revan. I of course never said it out loud, but there were many times when I thought to myself, “Why is Revan doing that?” or “That is not something I expected from Revan,” or “Revan is getting on my nerves.” It wasn’t until Dantooine, during her month of retraining, that I began to think of her as Rena and not Revan. I never knew Revan, but Rena is my friend. And I don’t have many of those. It’s a complicated friendship, certainly, and we have our fair share of disagreements. But part of friendship is how you deal with those disagreements.

Although, I wonder if that friendship is over now. Not because of how her true identity was revealed, although that certainly doesn’t help. I know she disagrees with me, but the Jedi are more than simply an idea. The Jedi are the only thing holding the Dark Side at bay. Without the Jedi, the galaxy would descend into darkness, beyond hope, possible beyond salvation. Certainly that is more important than any individual. If saving Revan will defeat Malak, I have no regrets. If Carth suffering Admiral Karath’s torture would have aided the Republic, then I would consider that an acceptable loss. I wouldn't enjoy it, of course, but if it was necessary I would find a way to live with the consequences. And I gather Revan would have felt the same. But Rena doesn’t. Perhaps they are more dissimilar than I thought.

Rena reaches out to kick Malak, but before she makes contact, Malak whisks her into a Force whirlwind and runs. A coward, as he has always been.

---

Asshole! I could see it in his eyes, I was making progress, I was making a dent, and he runs!

I could just let him go. This is not going to be the last time we meet. It can’t be. The Star Forge is still out there. And Malak would like nothing more than to get rid of me now. I’m a problem, and the only way to stop me from being a problem is to kill me. I have no intention of dying today, if only because I need to give the Jedi Council hell. I don’t want to think about that now, though, if I think about that now I’m going to have a fucking panic attack. So that’s that. I’m going to wait for Carth and Bastila to unfreeze, and then we get to the Hawk and go. Easy.

But it could never be that simple, could it? Malak would not leave any avenue for me to just go. And even if he did, that wouldn’t be the end of the fight. Maybe there’s a tracker on the Hawk. Maybe he’ll follow us to Manaan. I have no idea how this will end, but it won’t end well.

I don’t want to be here. I don’t know what this feeling is in the pit of my stomach, but I hate it. Oh. Wait. That’s what it is. Nope, I don’t want to think about that now. I need a hug. But Carth is still frozen, assuming he could even trust me again. Nope, not thinking about that. I touch Carth’s hand, at least, looking for a little comfort. And he lets me read him. He hates it. God, that’s a horrible feeling. Nope, don’t want to think about that. Focus on the Sith Lord.

I think I saw Malak go through the door in front of me, rather than left or right. But it’s locked. Why? Why is he making this difficult? Let’s try finding another way into that corridor. Door on the right. There’s another door on my left that should lead to where Malak is, but it’s locked, too. Jesus, dude, really? Okay, keep moving forward. Another door. Left turn. One more door that should lead to Malak, but it is also locked. Why, dude? Why? All this effort to prove you’re not a coward, but you’re acting pretty cowardly. I keep moving forward to the next door. Through that and after another turn there’s one more door that should lead to Malak. If this one is locked, too, I swear to fucking God…

It opens. There he is. Bastard.

---

I can feel Malak’s stasis hold slowly wearing off. It starts small at first. I can move my foot, just a little. Then it fades even more, and I can curl my fingers. Then it fades completely, and I can let my muscles relax for a moment. But only a brief moment. Rena is still fighting Malak. I can sense it. But his is not the only anger I feel. Carth is clearly not having the best day, to put it mildly. And as much as he’s trying to focus solely on Malak and getting to the Ebon Hawk, his thoughts are obviously clouded by Rena. Anger at her, and me, at the Jedi Council, but also confusion. And mistrust. Perhaps even some depression. Clearly there is sadness there. But how deep it goes is unclear.

“Damn it, Rena!” he swears at her, “She’s going to get herself killed, fighting Malak alone.”

“You still care about her, then,” I say. I did not expect his feelings for her to go away so quickly, but I did expect them to be mixed.

“Care, hell, I don’t think we’ll be able to find the last Star Map without her,” he says. No, that’s not quite right. But no matter. We have more important things to worry about. “I saw her go right, but the door closed and I have no idea where she went from there.” I saw that, too. “Can you sense where they are?”

“I can try.” I reach out with the Force. She’s close. And despite Carth’s concern, for lack of a better word, she would seem to be doing very well on her own. She’s certainly thinking about her identity, but she’s doing her best to focus on Malak. This fight isn’t going to end today. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but this fight is not going to end today.

A choice needs to be made. One of us isn’t going to make it out of here. And Carth’s right, the others need Rena to find the last Star Map. Revan found it on Manaan once before, and even if she doesn’t know it, Rena has the memory. A sacrifice needs to be made. My sacrifice. “We need to hurry,” I say, and we run through the center door. I only hope we’re not too late.

---

Malak moves fast. Almost too fast. I let myself react on instinct rather than using any particular form or thinking about my responses. I just let my mind go blank. Muscle memory. Memory. Memory. Nope, don’t want to think about that. Focus on this.

I’m not going to win this fight.

Malak reaches out a hand and suddenly I can’t move. God. No. No this can’t happen. Carth, if anything happens, I just want you to know I love --

“This isn’t over, Malak!” Bastila? They’re unfrozen. I’m not going to die today. But something’s not…

“Your friends do not give up easily, Revan,” Malak says, “You always could inspire loyalty. But even the three of you together cannot stand against my power!”

“For the Jedi!” Bastila shouts, and she throws her lightsaber at him. Malak starts to move towards her. I still can’t move, not yet. Focus, Rena, focus! Undo it! Do something! “I’ll hold Malak off!” she says, “You two get out of here! Find the Star Forge!”

“No, Bastila, he’s too strong!” Carth says, but she doesn’t change. “No!” She reaches out a hand and closes the door behind Malak, sealing them in. And suddenly I can move again, I don’t know how, but I can move. I’ve got to help her, I’ve got to get in there! I head for the lock, there’s got to be something I can do! Come on. Come on! “The door’s sealed, we can’t get past!” Carth says, trying to stop me, “Come on, we have to get to the Ebon Hawk!”

“No, we can’t, I have to help her!” I have to help her!

“Bastila doesn’t stand a chance against Malak, but we can’t help her. Not here.”

“I can’t let another person die!” I shout. I can’t. How many deaths did Revan cause? How many did Revan kill? I can’t do that again, I won’t have her death on my ledger, too!

“We have to get off this ship and find the Star Forge,” he insists, “That’s the key to beating Malak!”

“No, the key to defeating him is right behind this fucking door - are you going to help me or not?”

“No, I’m not!” he says, “Look, Bastila sacrificed herself so we could get away, and I won’t let that sacrifice be in vain. If you won’t come with me, then I'll shoot you and carry you out, but I’d rather not do that. Don’t force my hand.”

I can’t leave her. But I can’t leave him. I can’t -- I don’t know! I - wait, what the fuck, put me down! “I’m not waiting for you to figure it out.” This is completely degrading.

Thankfully he puts me down when we get to the ship. “Get the hyperdrive up and running, they will have deactivated it on Saul’s orders. Let me know once it’s ready,” he says, “I don’t want to be here a minute longer than we have to be.” I nod and run for the hyperdrive engine. T3 whirs along behind me.

It’s something to focus on, at least. This wasn’t a single “flick a switch” deactivation, this was by the book. Power couplings disconnected, safety caps on the ends, this is going to take a bit. I pull my communicator out of my pocket and buzz Carth. “This is going to take a couple minutes, don’t do any fancy flying.” He acknowledges me but that’s it. I don’t have time to think about that right now. He gets us out of the hangar and the battle begins. Shield grid’s in good shape. Caps off the couplings, this may sting a bit. I don’t know as much about engines as I do about droids, but the caps seem to be the same, just scaled up. If a droid’s going to be powered down for a while or could get wet - like torrential downpour wet - you’re supposed to disconnect the power couplings and put rubber caps on the end, for safety. So no one gets electrocuted or so the power flow doesn’t get corrupted, because that’s a bear to fix. And if this were a droid, I’d want to start at the bottom coupling and work my way up. The process here should be the same, too - turn the power off or reroute it, pull the caps off, reconnect, reroute it back. So I start on the lowest of the four. Reroute, caps, reconne - Carth, I said no fancy flying! Stop with the loop de loops! Reconnect, reroute. Second. Try not to lose my lunch. As if I’ve eaten much today. Third. God, Mission, hit them before they hit us! Fourth. Come on, come on… Done! “Carth, punch it!”

Hyperspace. Finally. The worst is over.

Or… maybe it’s just getting started.

#star wars #knights of the old republic #star wars kotor #fiction #autistic artist #specs writes stuff #kotor fic #rena visz #oc #fem!revan #ls!revan #the first time that tag isn't a spoiler lol #carth onasi #bastila shan #darth malak #leviathan #swearing tw #does rena say fuck here? i forget and im not going to check

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yuvon-writes-letters · 3 years ago

Note

To all,

In the few hours of planning, I have witnessed a letter appear in our shared mailbox, on a Tuesday.

For the record, I do not believe any of this nonsense, you could very easily be lying, both Yu, and whoever that “entity” is.

But Rai insists that it is all true, and despite his fragility, he always had this uncanny ability to tell when someone is spreading falsehoods or not, a knack for feeling if something is going wrong. The fact that he hasn’t quit sending these letters means that he wholeheartedly believes this, sci-fi narrative.

I trust him, so I’ll play along for now.

Trust me, this does not mean I trust you. For the time being, Rai will not be sending any letters, because he has apparently made himself a target, I cannot have that.

My name is. Actually, you don’t get to know my full name, it’s bad enough that you know my first anyways.

To, the entity, the letter that that was sent was matted in dirt, the words “I see you” were written in what is most likely blood, it was stuffed in an envelope along with the lily.

To Yu, Yuvon, thank you for being there for Rai these past few weeks, and fuck you, for making his life so much harder than it needs to be. He should be worried about portioning his time right to get more sleep, and doing his best to earn a living, not trying to keep a cursed pen-pal alive. Unfortunately, if what you do say is true, then I cannot blame you for his woes, you reached out, and like the hero he is, he takes the call for help.

I am currently in the process of reading the letters that were sent between you all, but, if you want to be in my good graces, a summary would help much more than hours of reading, I will not take kindly to secrets (Jake).

I will await a response.

Skie

Skie,

Most of the evidence I'd usually offer to assure people I'm not lying doesn't apply to you. It'll be a little more clear why when I get into the summary later, but I'm reeling a bit and I'm trying to take things one thing at a time.

Yeah. It's probably best if Rai at least isn't the first one to open these letters for a while. Please be careful too. I seriously don't know what this thing is capable of or what it wants, but it's very clearly violent. And entities (that's what we call these things, for lack of a better word) getting violent ends very, very poorly.

Best if we don't do full names, I agree. We've all sort of set a precedent where we use nicknames or screen names instead of our actual names.

(The ink turns dark enough that it seems to suck in the light around it.) My thanks for the description.

...Right. That just happened. I'm never going to get used to that.

You're welcome and I'm sorry. Truthfully, I've been pretty worried about Rai as well, and I sincerely apologize for any and all parts I played in Rai's problems.

Alright. Recap. This is gonna be long.

One day before I sent my first letter, I woke up in a clearing in a forest, with a note that told me that I could send letters to alternate universes with other people in the same situation I had left before arriving to the clearing on the ground in front of me. I marked the direction I was facing when I appeared and arbitrarily declared it "north". I did some exploring, and discovered that there was an invisible barrier all around the clearing, and that there were trees as far as the eye could see when I climbed a tree inside the barrier. After the first day, I sent my first letter.

Rai, though he went by Rainer then, was actually the first person to write to me, two days later. He was doubtful, obviously, but I shared specific details of the shared experiences that connect us across universes, and so did he, so we believed each other. We talked metaphysics and theories about what was going on for a bit, and Rai asked for details about my circumstances. I learned there were eight rooms off the central clearing, but five disturbed me so much that I lied and said that only three existed: a library (south), a game room (east), and a "comfy room" (west) with pillows and mattresses and blankets, etc.

Eventually, I realized there was an anomaly we've tentatively been calling the stasis over my version of the Duskwood group, where they went on with their lives but nothing actually changed. They didn't start to come to terms with emotional events that happened, they made no progress in their investigations, they didn't talk about anything important. Things were happening, but nothing HAPPENED, if that makes sense.

Rai encouraged me to tell one particular person from the Duskwood group I trust whole-heartedly, Jake, about my circumstances. That broke the stasis on him, and from then on, he and I started to work together.

We determined that the trees around my clearing are elder trees (symbolic of life/death/rebirth cycle) and completely generic trees. I theorized that I was stuck between a symbolic "death" and "rebirth", in a stasis of my own. I remain convinced of this theory.

On Father's Day, I spoke to the Duskwood group and lied to them in the process of cancelling an event I'd planned on that day for fear of giving myself away. Unbeknownst to me, that began to shake them out of their stasis slowly.

Someone named Liska contacted me then, informing me that they were sort of in an inverse situation as my own: They had normal contact with their friends and family outside of Duskwood, and they hadn't been kidnapped like I was, but Duskwood itself was almost completely frozen. There was some other weird stuff happening with the stasis, but that's not so relevant.

Lis started to get threatening calls from the perpetrator in the Duskwood case, worrying pretty much everyone, plus she didn't trust me, though I cleared the distrust up fairly quickly.

This is about when Rai started having issues, and warned us he wouldn't be able to write letters as often.

I sorta got stuck for a while, and Lis kept getting threatened. I figured out that someone would eventually join me in the clearing, but not who, how, or when, so I was obsessing over that. About then, Lis pointed out a small detail that showed I was lying about something, and that turned into a confession about the other five rooms. In brief:

North: A room with a countdown to when I can leave

Northwest: Another clearing where everything was dead with a silver goblet at the end, whole area gave off a magical sense of dread, I left without investigating further

Southeast: Altar w/ bloodstains, symbolism and text suggesting I could sacrifice my life to kill the ass terrorizing my version of the group (an alternate version of the asshole stalking Lis)

Northeast: Knife in the middle of a glade, can cut almost anything in here but the invisible barrier.

Southwest: 3 upside-down torches, one on each wall that wasn't an entrance, floor was a field of white lilies. Refused to enter initially due to overdose of symbols of death.

I discovered that my old family and my few non-Duskwood friends had all completely forgotten who I was. They still haven't remembered, but that's besides the point. I'm not just whining here, this becomes important later.

Anyhow, I started getting really worried about Rai, because he mentioned his head feeling fuzzy, he was having trouble understanding things, and his writing was disjointed. You probably know about when that was on the recent timeline.

Lis's next letter was concerning, and I asked in a cipher I won't disclose because at least one entity can't seem to understand it whether she was alright and offered a code for her to tell us if she was being watched.

Lis then sent two letters back to back: one where she used the code, and one when she wasn't being watched: she had been kidnapped by the stalker. We also made first contact with an entity we're calling "Goldie" or "Aur" (first few letters of their name) who is benevolent and has done their utmost to help Lis.

In addition, her Jake spoke to her over Tumblr, promising to help find her, and I got print-outs of the screenshots in an envelope. I contacted him as well, offering what advice I could, especially as we'd begun to theorize there was an entity working against Lis as well.

It wasn't enough. Lis was shot. And died.

And then her entity sent her back in time, alive, and with her Jake freed from the stasis much earlier.

As Lis started recovering mentally from that, I started messing on this plane again. Lis convinced me to test out the death symbol room and see if it was actually dangerous, so I first tried cutting my way out of the barrier with the knife (it failed) and then I started sorta using the Robin Crusoe method of testing the room for death, which meant I went very slowly.

During this, Rai finally admitted he hadn't been sleeping enough, and I tried to encourage him to actually fucking sleep and not worry so much about writing the damn letters.

Then

Okay, I'm not proud of this bit. Behind one of the torches in the room with the lilies and torches I'd been testing, there was a sheet of paper with a blood ritual on it. It promised an end result I'd like, and none of the other schmuck baits up to that point had actually hurt me, so I gave it a try. Imagine my shock when Jake appeared in the clearing. He's still here, by the way, we don't know how to get him back any more than me.

Rai brought up a theory (later confirmed) that the ritual brought Jake because he was what I most wanted to have with me right then. I began to work on trying to deconstruct the ritual and understand how it worked so I could confirm or deny, but was interrupted when I discovered that the Duskwood group had broken out of stasis, and I had to play damage control. They also became semi-aware the stasis had happened.

Lis sent another letter, and Jake came to the conclusion that her workplace is unsafe, and urged her to take a vacation, especially in the wake of further threats from the kidnapper. Also, Lis's stasis started to weaken, and she began passing messages between my version of Jake and her's. They proved to be surprisingly different.

At that point, someone named Jessy sent a letter in, who is one of the Duskwood crew. She was from a year in my future, shortly after her version of me, named Matt, was killed by the kidnapper and Jake was framed for it.

At this point, Jake raised the theory that Rai, Lis, Matt, myself, and all other counterparts across universes are somehow cursed, or gain more attention than we should from entities, and that's why so many horrible things happen to us. It... makes a lot of sense, honestly.

About here is when I started getting together a plan to get out. I was worried I might be mindread, though, so I went to slightly extreme measures to make sure my thoughts wouldn't give me away.

Then Jessy wrote again, and tried to convince Lis and I to run away from our respective Jakes out of concern. Along the way, she accidentally implied that her universe's Jake was being tortured in his incarceration, and I admittedly lashed out at her a bit in my response to her letter. It made me furious, obviously, and scared and upset, so I used those emotions to focus.

Lis grew concerned when I denied I had a plan. Repeatedly. And unconvincingly. Okay, it was more of a mantra. I sort of wrote "I have no plan" all over the paper and then didn't erase well enough, so you can see why she was concerned.

Now, I don't know everything that went down right there, but I'll take a guess. The entity, unable to interpret the ciphered messages I'd sent to Lis explaining why I was so insistent that I had no plan, asked Lis what my plan was, pretending to be benevolent like Goldie. Lis didn't believe it, and annoyed the entity in the process. It taunted her, claiming that Jake and I would be hurt because of her noncompliance, which was bullshit because the entity would've done what it did anyhow. Lis tried to send us warnings, but the entity blocked them and taunted her more publicly.

Unless it's essential, I'd rather not go into detail about what exactly happened when I tried to execute my plan. There's a letter that describes most of it somewhere in the past two weeks or more. Suffice it to say, I fell into a probably magic-induced coma for a few days, my face is still scarred to hell, and there's a small chunk missing from my right arm, though that's filling in because enhanced/faster healing here.

After the incident, while I was unconscious, everyone wrote in letters asking after me or offering advice, including Lis's Jake and Jessy, and Jake pretended to be me to keep the Duskwood group from suspecting anything. One of them figured it out, but she was sympathetic to both Jake and myself, so she kept the secret. In the meantime, Lis took a vacation and got out of danger, hopefully.

When I woke up, I was able to just... know a few minor facts about the entity. I still don't know how or why.

Anyway, I just sorta recovered and caught up for a bit.

Max contacted us to basically let us know that Lis was doing better (she was really torn up with guilt over the incident :( )

Very recently, Jessy contacted my parents, trying to determine if I was alright, and discovered that they didn't know who I was. That spawned a confession from me when I was confronted; that whole group is now in the know. Jake is still not entirely pleased with my decision, but I think he's mostly over it.

Then that new entity apparently sent out the letter, you contacted us for the first time, and now we’re back to the present moment.

Oh. One more thing that seems pretty important in hindsight. Rai sent me a crayon as an experiment. It arrived three different colors in one crayon: brown, green, and white. Take a wild guess what it was called.

Yep. White lily.

This is sort of reminding me of a character I made a million years ago, but the powers don't match up. It doesn't sound like the M.O. does either. Still, that character was a nasty piece of work. I hope it's all just a coincidence.

Anyhow. That's all for now. Talk to you later. Write to you later. Whatever.

—Yuvon

(The letter tucks itself in the paper clip with the others.)

#duskwood letter game #yuvon writes letters #duskwood #duskwood game #duskwood everbyte #duskwood jake #duskwood jessy #rai #skie #lis #lis's jake #lis's entity #jessy #the entity #lily #recap

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sesamestreep · 4 years ago

Text

stack the deck with wild cards (chapter 3)

(read on AO3)

(start from the beginning)

SUMMARY: Cassian finally learns the truth and some feelings are discussed. Emphasis on "some".

A/N: Different day, same warnings for discussions of pregnancy, unsafe sex, and abortion. See the AO3 link above for more detailed warnings, if you need them. We’re halfway there!!

Jyn sprints the entire way home to her apartment, despite the fact that she hates running. If she’s focused on how miserable she is about that, she can’t think about what a fool she just made of herself at the restaurant and keeping her mind off of that is the most important thing at the moment. With all of the winter layers she has on, she ends up drenched in sweat by the time she gets home, so she immediately takes a long, hot shower. It’s just how she deals with stress these days, apparently. She’s in there so long that it’s a wonder her roommate doesn’t bang down the door and chew her out about the water bill being high enough as it is, but she’s probably due for a small mercy at this point.

After she’s done, she heads back to her room and finds the gigantic pile of clothes waiting for her on her bed, just where she left them, and that’s enough of a reality check that she finds herself crumpling onto the floor and crying her eyes out. Stupid fucking hormones , she thinks, with her knees pulled into her chest. Stupid Reece for breaking up with her and cheating on her for months and for ruining everything. Stupid Cassian with his soft eyes and his small, understanding smiles and his punctuality and his resigned acceptance of the way she’s treated him. Stupid Jyn, with her irresponsibility and her fear of emotions and commitment and vulnerability and her dedication to always putting her faith in the wrong people and her insurmountable distrust of the right ones and her idiot uterus for picking this time with this guy to get pregnant.

When there’s no tears left, just the shaky breaths of coming down from a tantrum, she slowly counts to ten and then pushes herself back up to her feet. She tells herself that she will come up with a new plan of how to tell Cassian what’s going on in the morning—it may be immature, but at this point, a text might be her best option—and for now, all she has to do is fold her clothes and then she can go to bed.

She’s managed to re-fold about half of the pile when her phone chimes with an alert for a text message. Seeing it’s from Bodhi, she swipes the screen to open it and sees that it just says: I’m so so so so so so so so sorry, I’m so sorry . Before she can process that or ask him what he means, her phone rings and, this time, it’s Cassian.

Jyn freezes for a second before she numbly hits the button to answer the call. “Hello?”

“You’re pregnant ?”

“I—” she starts to deny it, but realization dawns before she can come up with a proper lie. “Bodhi told you,” she says, closing her eyes and trying to remember how to breathe.

“Don’t be upset with him,” Cassian replies hurriedly. “He thought I knew.”

“I’m not,” Jyn says, and tries not to read anything into his tone. “Upset with him, that is.”

“Oh. Good.”

Silence stretches between them and Jyn can’t really blame him for not knowing what to say next. She doesn’t even know what to say next, and she’s the one holding all the cards in this situation.

“Cassian?”

“I’m still here.”

“Do you want to come over?” She asks, picking at a loose thread on her comforter anxiously. It shouldn’t feel like such a big ask, but at the moment it does. “To talk, I mean.”

He exhales loudly, as if he’d been holding his breath waiting for her question. “At your place?”

“Yeah.”

“Right now?”

“If you want,” Jyn says with a shrug that he can’t see. This conversation is making her feel all of fifteen years old. She half-expects him to ask if her parents are home next.

“Okay, sure,” he replies, sounding cautious. “I could do that.”

Some part of Jyn relaxes at that, even if he doesn’t sound enthusiastic about it. Because, surely, if he hated her now, he wouldn’t come over to see her. He doesn’t even seem angry about any of this, just confused, which makes sense under the circumstances. It doesn’t have to be catastrophic; they can handle it like adults, maybe.

It takes a few more minutes of awkward discussion, but Jyn says she’ll send Cassian her address and he says he can be there in about twenty minutes and then they hang up, leaving Jyn to panic in her apartment alone. She does her best to clean up the rest of her clothes and put them back where they belong, but a significant portion of them just get dropped onto her desk chair to be dealt with later. She tries to get the living room to look like an real adult lives there, moving all the assorted cups and plates she’s left lying around into the kitchen sink and tidying up the art supplies that are strewn across every surface. She doesn’t bother changing into a cuter outfit again; Cassian knows what he’s getting into now, she reasons, and so she sticks with the leggings-and-a-sweater ensemble that is now, apparently, her traditional outfit for telling someone she is pregnant.

The time between getting off the phone with Cassian and the buzzer signaling his arrival doesn’t exactly fly by, but the panic-induced cleaning spree does take up Jyn’s attention for a while. She’s already warned him that it was a trek from the lobby to her apartment and that there’s no elevator, so she just buzzes him in and waits by the door until she hears footsteps close by. She undoes the chain and turns over the deadbolt, swinging the door open about two seconds before Cassian appears in front of it.

“Hey,” he says, slightly out of breath, and, for all Jyn saw him just an hour ago, her heart still stutters at the sight of him.

“Hi,” she says, still at a loss for how to have this conversation, despite the ample time she’s had to worry about it. They obviously can’t have it in the doorway, though, so she steps aside while gesturing into the apartment. “Come inside,” she adds, awkwardly.

Cassian steps past her and his face takes on the expression of someone trying not to seem nosy while his eyes nonetheless take in the entire room. It makes sense that he’d be interested—they hooked up at his place, so he’s never actually been here before, and she’d been the same way with his bedroom, scanning everything and hoping to learn more about him from it—but Jyn can’t help but worry that he’ll find something she doesn’t want him to know about her. Then again, that’s always how she feels with him, like her carefully designed defenses are useless against his perceptiveness. Like she’s giving herself away with everything she does.

“I can take your coat, if you want,” she says, just for something to do. If it distracts him from whatever he’s learning about her from her messy apartment, that’s good too. She holds out a hand for it, feeling ridiculous but not willing to bail on the impulse now.

“Oh,” Cassian says, as if his mind had been elsewhere. He moves to unzip his jacket, but a brown paper bag he’s carrying that Jyn hadn’t noticed when he first came in impedes him. “Can you actually—?” He asks, gesturing at her with the bag.

Jyn reaches for it immediately, relieved to have something to do with her hands. “Yes, sure,” she says, solemnly, as if taking this bag from him is the most important task in the history of the universe. He’s halfway out of his jacket when she thinks to ask, “what is this, anyway?”

“Oh,” he says again, pulling his arm out of a sleeve. “It’s dinner.”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah,” he says, as if this requires no further explanation. When Jyn just blinks at him in response, though, he seems to realize he needs to elaborate. “You didn’t get to eat earlier.”

“Right, so this is—?”

“Dinner,” Cassian replies, slowly, as if it’s not a word she’s heard before, which it may as well not be, given how much difficulty she’s having understanding him. “You told me what you were going to order earlier, so I thought—”

“Sorry, you went back to the restaurant?” Jyn asks, disbelieving. “To get me dinner?”

“Yes,” he says, carefully, like he thinks he might be in trouble.

“You went back to pick up dinner after I humiliated myself and left you there for no reason and lied to you?” She asks, and she can tell from the waver in her voice that she's about to embarrass herself again.

“You didn’t do any of that, Jyn,” he says, patiently, and that’s all it takes to make her cry again, apparently, which rightfully freaks him out. “If I did something wrong—” he starts to say, reaching out for her.

“No, no. Not at all,” Jyn says, wiping at her eyes in what turns out to be a futile gesture; trying to hide her tears just makes her more embarrassed and that makes her cry even more. “You’re being way too nice to me. I don’t deserve this.”

Cassian shrugs. “Everyone deserves dinner,” he says, like it’s really as simple as that. “I really didn’t mean to make you upset.”

“You didn’t. I mean, I’m fine,” she replies, not sounding convincing at all judging by Cassian’s reaction. She sniffles and tries again. “Really, I am. It’s just these damn hormones.”

“Right,” he says, gesturing vaguely as if the hormones are in the air somehow. He takes a deep, steadying breath before he speaks again. “So, you’re pregnant…”

Jyn tilts her head in the direction of the living room. “Come on, let’s sit down to talk about this.”

Cassian lets her lead the way and cautiously takes a seat in the armchair once he sees Jyn settle on the couch. She can’t tell if this distance is for his sake or for hers, but it doesn’t feel like a good sign either way. It also brings to mind the conversation she had with Bodhi, with them in the exact same positions. She can only hope this one will go even half as well.

After a few moments of silence, Cassian clears his throat awkwardly. “So…?”

Jyn laughs before she can stop herself, not because she’s genuinely amused but just because she cannot believe this is a real thing that’s happening to her. “Right,” she says. “I guess I have to do the talking here.”

Cassian nods, but speaks anyway. “All Bodhi told me was that you were pregnant,” he says. “He thought you’d already told me when he heard we’d gone to dinner—”

“I was planning to tell you then, but I…”

“You what?”

Jyn takes a deep breath and stares at her hands where they’re gripping her knees. “I chickened out,” she says, to her hands.

“Why?”

“I just—you were talking to that kid at the next table and you said you couldn’t wait to have little ones running around and I didn’t want to tell you I was pregnant and deal with the disappointment when I told you I wasn’t going to keep it.”

Cassian closes his eyes, looking pained, and Jyn readies herself for the oncoming argument. Instead of yelling at her, though, Cassian just groans and rubs his forehead.

“Oh, god,” he says, “if I’d known you were—”

“You couldn’t have!” She hurries to say. “How could you have known?”

“I know, but still.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting kids! I just...don’t.”

“Neither do I,” Cassian says, in a rush, and Jyn feels like she forgets how to breathe for a second.

She shakes her head. “You don’t have to say that to make me feel better,” she says, feeling oddly hurt by the very idea of it. Reece had been pretty ambivalent about the whole issue, but she’s had other exes who insisted she would change her mind and it made her wary of bringing the subject of kids up with anyone. She might very well change her mind someday , but she feels comfortable saying she doesn’t want children now . That way, no one she dates gets disappointed later on when she doesn’t change her mind.

“I’m not,” Cassian says, in the here and now. “I mean it.”

“Cassian, you work with children in the foster care system. You love kids! And you told me an hour ago that you can’t wait to have a bunch of them!”

“My sister is pregnant,” he says, cutting in before she can keep going. “That’s what I was talking about. She told the whole family when we were all home for Christmas. And you’re right: I do love kids. But I think being an uncle will be enough for me.”

Jyn’s entire mouth has gone dry, so forming words is a little difficult at the moment. She’d been so sure that he would want kids of his own, even if he didn’t want this one with her right now. Without even realizing it, she’d put it on the list of reasons why she absolutely couldn’t date Cassian Andor; because he’s the sort of guy who will want a family someday and she’s not the sort of girl who could give that to him. Well, on a purely biological level, apparently she’s extremely capable of it, but on an emotional level, not so much. The point is, hearing him say that he doesn’t want kids feels like it shatters her entire worldview.

Cassian, however, doesn’t seem to realize her silence is the result of any emotional upheaval and takes it instead as an invitation to keep talking. “And even if I did want kids, I’m definitely not ready to have them now,” he says, leaning in closer to her as if to emphasize his sincerity. “And even if I was ready, it’s not my decision.”

“Really?” Jyn asks, finding enough confidence to be incredulous.

“Really,” he says, earnestly and, if she’s not mistaken, a little defensively. “I couldn’t ask someone to carry a child they didn’t want for nine months just because I wanted it.”

She likes that he keeps it theoretical like that, as if they’re talking about a fictional pregnancy and not a real one. He doesn’t even mention her specifically. He’s talking about some other future woman, one who wouldn’t abandon him at a restaurant because she couldn’t have an adult conversation. It’s another reason—one he’s too polite to mention—that this pregnancy can’t go forward: they’re not together and they never could be. She’s just not relationship material.

“But, to be clear,” she says, “you don’t want it?”

“No,” he says, immediately and firmly, which reassures her but makes him wince. “I mean, you don’t either, right?”

“What? No!”

“I just wanted to be sure,” he says, leaning back and running a hand through his hair. “Because I don’t want you to feel like you have to—”

“I’m not having a baby,” Jyn says, just as firmly. “I don’t want one and I’d be a terrible mother, so...it’s just not happening.”

“I don’t think you’d be—” Cassian starts to say but she cuts him off with a look. He puts up his hands, as though he’s surrendering. “Right. You don’t need my reassurance on this, I get it.”

Jyn narrows her eyes at him, even as she leans back against the couch cushions. “You’re being remarkably understanding about all of this,” she says, warily.

“Sorry, did you want me to be an asshole about it?” He snaps, and then clearly regrets it. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“You’re fine, Cassian. I’m relieved, honestly, to see you have a real emotion about something.”

He laughs at that, but there’s no joy to it and Jyn realizes belatedly that she’s actually hurt his feelings.

“Yes, I know it’s a rare thing with me,” he says, looking down at his shoes.

“I’m sorry,” she says, leaning forward but stopping short of reaching for him. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know what you meant.”

“No, you don’t.” She takes a deep breath, before she goes on. “I just prepared so much for the worst case scenario, where you got angry with me and called me selfish for not wanting this baby and, well, all sorts of other terrible things, that I guess I don’t know what to do now that you’re here and you’re being really...lovely about it.”

Cassian laughs again, though there’s some actual good humor to it this time. “Lovely, huh?”

“Yes,” Jyn replies, refusing to be embarrassed of her word choice. “You brought me dinner and you’re being so understanding and patient about all of this. You’re not even mad that I thought you were going to be awful about it.”

“Believe me, I’m familiar with catastrophizing,” he says, sardonically. “I love a good worst case scenario.”

Jyn smiles at that. “I just want to make sure you’re being honest with me about how you feel,” she says, ignoring the irony of those words coming from her, the queen of denial.

Cassian, for his part, looks completely thrown by this. “How I feel?” He asks, baffled. “Jyn, you’re the one who’s pregnant. How I feel is irrelevant.”

“That’s not true. You can still have feelings about it! And while it’s not precisely a secret, and I know it’s not like you and I are super close, it’s still mostly a thing just between us and I guess I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

He nods, absently, but seems to be giving the question real thought. “I think I am,” he finally says, and somehow his uncertainty goes a long way in making Jyn trust what he’s saying. “I grew up in the sort of family where we didn’t talk about these kinds of things, you know? That is, until you got your first girlfriend and then everyone was saying you’d better not try anything because if she gets pregnant, you’re gonna have to marry her, you know? And you know the state of sex education in this country, it’s honestly so—”

Cassian stops himself when he catches Jyn’s eye and realizes she’s trying not to smile. “Sorry,” he says, looking embarrassed and, unfortunately, very cute because of it. “That’s a rant for another day. The point is, I grew up thinking abortion was bad, because sex outside of marriage was bad and if you’re married and having sex, you should want kids too. But then I went away to college and now I have a degree in social work and somewhere along the line, I realized abortion was just...a thing people do. And I think everyone should have access to it if they want or need it.

“And I don’t know how to convince you I’m not just saying all of this for a gold star or something, but I promise it’s how I really feel and I don’t...judge you at all, for doing it.” He pauses, clearly debating whether to say anything else. “I mean, I’m definitely not going to tell my grandmother about this because she’d kick my ass, but she also still thinks I go to church every Sunday, so what’s another lie between family?”

“I mean, are you sure you don’t want to brag about knocking me up and then encouraging me to get an abortion to your grandmother?” Jyn asks, honestly unable to process any of the other things he said. “Because that sounds like a really fun conversation to me.”

Cassian laughs at that, and this time it’s genuine, which she can tell from the way he ducks his head to hide his smile. “If you want her to know so bad, I’ll give you her number. You can tell her yourself.”

“I think I’m good.”

“Are you?” He asks, softly, after a moment’s consideration. He’s looking at his hands when he says it, like he’s afraid of how she’ll react to his concern. “I mean, are you okay?”

Jyn laughs, disbelieving, before she realizes that could seem rude. “I mean, I’ve been better,” she says, truthfully. “But I’ve also been worse. So I guess I am okay. I’m exactly okay.”

She means it to be pacifying, to ease Cassian’s mind, but she sees that she’s missed the mark when the concerned expression on his face seems to deepen. She thinks about backpedaling somehow, saying something fake and cheerful about the situation, but she can’t think of anything and she’s also pretty sure Cassian would see right through that anyway. She’s never been able to hide from him, which is probably why this thing has been such a mess from the start.

“I mean, I’m not exactly happy to have this procedure done, or to have to pay for it, but—”

“I could help,” Cassian interjects and Jyn completely loses her train of thought.

“Help?” She asks, blankly. “With what?”

“With...paying for it,” he says, awkwardly.

“Oh,” Jyn says, feeling an odd mixture of emotions. She’s not even sure what kind of help she was expecting him to offer, but paying for her abortion wasn’t it. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I could, though. I will, if you want.”

She takes a deep breath, trying to understand what she’s actually feeling before she says anything. “I don’t.”

“You don’t…?”

“I don’t want your help,” she says, trying not to sound too harsh while also sounding decisive.

“Oh,” Cassian replies, painfully neutral. “I understand.”

Jyn wants to contradict him, comfort him somehow by telling him he’s wrong and that he doesn’t understand. She wants to explain that she’s not rejecting his help because she doesn’t want or need it, but because she doesn’t feel she deserves it, after everything. She can’t walk around for the rest of her life, seeing him at shows and at Bodhi’s place, knowing that she fucked him over and ghosted him and then he came through when she needed him. She wouldn’t be able to deal with the guilt. She already can’t.

“It was my fault,” she says, instead, which just makes him look at her in confusion. “I told you I was on birth control—and I thought I was, really—but I forgot to refill my prescription after my breakup because I wasn’t having sex with anyone and so I let it lapse because, whatever, who cares, right? And then I forgot that I had stopped taking it and so when we, you know, had sex, I thought I was on the pill—I have been for like 10 years, so I just got so used to saying it that I forgot I wasn’t anymore—and that’s why I said we didn’t have to use anything. And then like three weeks ago, I found my old birth control...case...thing and it was empty and I remembered that I stopped taking it and then I realized I hadn’t had my period in a while and my boobs have been really tender and I took a home pregnancy test and it was positive so then I went to Planned Parenthood and they said I was pregnant and then I scheduled my abortion for next Friday.

“And now here we are,” she says, finally taking a breath. “So, I’m sorry but I can’t take your money after I’ve been so careless about...everything. I’m also sorry I talked about my boobs being tender before. That was weird.”

Cassian just looks at her, dumbfounded, for a moment after she’s finished speaking. “You don’t need to apologize,” he eventually says, once he’s gathered his thoughts. “For any of it.”

“Cassian—”

“No, really,” he says, firmly. “I’m not going to push you on this, I promise. If you don’t want my help, that’s your prerogative. But just don’t apologize to me, when there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“I screwed everything up,” Jyn insists, feeling close to tears once again. “Why aren’t you upset with me?”

“Because you’re doing everything you can to make sure none of this affects me! You don’t want money from me, you’re not even blaming me for getting you pregnant in the first place.”

“Because it was my fault!”

“These things happen, Jyn,” Cassian says, gently. “Even if you’d been on the pill, even if we used a condom, this could have happened.”

“Someone thinks very highly of his own virility,” she says before she can stop herself, but luckily it makes him laugh. “Sorry,” she adds, anyway.

“Stop apologizing,” he says, though the severity of it is undercut by the fact that he’s still smiling at her. They sit there in the surprisingly pleasant, companionable silence for a few moments until Cassian’s face suddenly clouds with worry again. “Wait, did you say your appointment is next Friday?” He asks.

“Yes. Why?”

“But that’s the 14th,” he says. When that only earns him a blank stare in response, he adds, “Valentine’s Day?”

“Oh, I guess it is,” Jyn says, with a shrug. “Why does that matter?”

Cassian shrugs too, but it feels like he’s faking it. “It’s just not a very fun way to spend Valentine’s Day.”

Jyn waves a hand at this concern. “Oh, I don’t care about that. Although, I hope it doesn’t interrupt Bodhi’s plans. I didn’t even think of that.”

“Bodhi?”

“Yeah, he’s coming to my appointment with me.”

“Oh?”

“They said I had to bring someone,” Jyn says, with a hint of an eyeroll. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have bothered Bodhi about it.”

Cassian nods aggressively at that, but his eyes are on the coffee table instead of her and his gaze seems far off. “That’s good, though,” he says, sounding as if he’s trying to convince himself. “Bodhi will be a good person to have around for that. He’s...comforting. You’ll be comfortable with him.”

“Right,” she agrees, distracted by his odd behavior. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” he says, snapping out of it immediately. “Of course. It’s just getting late, that’s all.”

“Oh, right. Well, if you have to go…”

“I probably should,” Cassian says, apologetically. Like he should really give up more of his free time for her. “I have work in the morning and...well, you know…”

“Yeah, I do,” Jyn says, standing up at the same time as he does.

At a loss for what to say or do, she goes to grab his jacket off the hook by the door. She turns to bring it back to him, only to find him right behind her. She makes an embarrassing noise of surprise at him being so close and hands it over without a word.

“Thanks,” he says, with a wry smile that somehow doesn’t feel like it’s at her expense.

“Thank you,” she replies, gesturing back towards the couch, “for bringing me dinner and for coming back after I acted so insane at the restaurant and for being so understanding about everything.”

Cassian is busy trying to get the collar of his jacket to sit right, so she hopes he doesn’t see that her eyes are stupidly filling with tears again. He looks back at her half a second after she gets herself under control, which is lucky, but the expression on his face—careful, guarded hope mixed with genuine interest and concern—nearly undoes her hard work in an instant. He’s not allowed to look at her like that.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says, softly, like he’s afraid to startle her. “You didn’t have to, and I appreciate it.”

“Oh, well, that’s not—”

He cuts off her equivocating with a sharp look and she takes the hint. He winds his scarf around his neck before he says, “I know you’re fine and you don’t need my help, but, on the off chance you do need anything, you know how to reach me.”

“Bat signal in the night sky over Gotham, right?” She jokes, which makes him smile, however briefly.

“I’m serious,” he says, and he puts a hand on her shoulder to prove it. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will,” she says, even though she won’t. “I promise,” she lies.

“Okay,” Cassian says, probably knowing she’s lying, but he gives her shoulder a comforting squeeze in spite of it. “Take care of yourself.”

Jyn nods, trying to think of something more inspired to say than you too and then he’s pulling his hand away and something inside her panics. Suddenly, she’s wrapping her arms around his middle and pulling him closer and they’re hugging, which is not a thing they really do, except maybe as a brief greeting or as part of a goodbye. After three seconds, this one hug has surpassed any of their other ones in duration, but letting go of him somehow seems more awkward. Then, his arms wrap around her too, with the palm of one hand coming to rest on her back and the other curling around the base of her neck, fingertips sinking into her hair.

She sighs involuntarily into the fabric of his scarf and hopes that it’s somehow muffled enough that he didn’t hear her. In response or completely independently, she’s not sure which, Cassian tucks his face into her shoulder. If it weren’t for the layers of clothing between them, it could have been a kiss, but she really shouldn’t be thinking things like that. She shouldn’t have done this in the first place at all, but now she can see that she wanted this all along. She wanted someone to hold her, apparently, to give her something solid to cling to when everything else in her life feels so nebulous and volatile. And Cassian gives her that, holding her close without a word, moving his palm slowly and gently over her back in a soothing, repetitive circle.

It would be easy, she thinks, to turn what they’re doing right now into a kiss, to leverage this one kind of intimacy into another. She could ask him to stay, to spend the night, and he might not even need much convincing. She hasn’t been sleeping well—up all night worrying about money and about telling Cassian what was going on—and she thinks he could probably help with that, even if he does nothing more than hold her like he is right now. It would be easy, and she wants to so badly.

But then she thinks of the two months she waited to call him. She thinks of leaving him in that restaurant and how he brought her dinner anyway. She thinks of her messy bedroom with the piles of clothes everywhere and her bright, mismatched sheets and her desk covered in markers and paint and unfinished sketches and she can’t imagine bringing him in there, not after she’s seen his meticulously clean and terrifyingly organized bedroom. She thinks of his sweaters over button-ups and his respectable career and his well-ordered life and how she continually barrels into it and fucks everything up. She thinks of asking him to stay and she knows he’d say yes, but it would be out of pity for her, out of concern, out of obligation to the almost mother of his theoretical child. It would be a selfish thing to ask of him, and she’s been selfish enough.

Instead, she allows herself another moment to enjoy the feeling of being held before she slowly pulls back, disentangling herself from his arms. He follows her lead immediately, letting his arms drop to his sides before hurriedly burying his hands in his pockets. Jyn does her best to wipe her eyes inconspicuously, though it’s likely a lost cause at this point. Cassian’s not stupid; he knows that wasn’t a regular goodbye hug.

“Thanks again,” Jyn says, finally and anticlimactically, after a moment’s silence. If Cassian somehow couldn’t see that she’s been crying, he can definitely hear it in her voice now.

“Of course,” he says, blessedly not mentioning it. He does, however, reach out a hand to brush a wayward strand of hair back from her face, his thumb skimming over her cheekbone as he does it.

Jyn hurries to step away after that, refusing to let herself linger in his presence and want things she can’t have. She undoes the locks on the front door and holds it open for him, standing aside to leave plenty of room between them.

He’s just stepping through the doorway when he turns back towards her. “If you need anything…” he repeats, seeming uncertain.

“I’ll call,” Jyn finishes for him, smiling weakly.

“Right,” Cassian says with a nod, before turning away. He’s already in the hallway when he turns back again. “Jyn?”

“Yeah?” She’s lingering by the doorway, when she should have already closed the door and put an end to this exhausting evening.

“You can call even if you don’t need anything,” he says, that same serious, hopeful expression from before returning. “You can always call.”

With that, he turns and walks away. Jyn stands in her doorway, watching him go and then listening until his footsteps reach and then disappear through the front door and for a few minutes after that, too, because she can’t bring herself to move.

#rebelcaptain #jyn erso #cassian andor #rogue one #stack the deck verse #obvious child #obvious child au #star wars #abortion #abortion tw #pregnancy #pregnancy tw #my fic #my writing #anyway here's wonderwall #otp: built on hope #otp: your mother and i have been together ever since

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